Bleeding Hearts
by Kendal
Summary: Cameron has spent her life waiting to die, ever since her soulmate told her he was going to kill her. Now he and his twin have found her, and she's trying desperately to survive... Fin.
1. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 1

The icy water dripped, sliding down cold metal like a stream of uneven tears. It settled in a murky pool and slowly dissipated into the damp earth. Around him, the air reeked of rot and neglect. The musty smell penetrated his bones and seeped into his heart.   
  
He watched the water dispassionately. His dark red hair fell in greasy clumps across his forehead into passionless purple eyes. His cheekbones protruded sharply from his pale white face and sank into his chiseled jaw. Dark, heavy lashes fell like crescents on those cheeks, forming shadows where none should have been. The shadows only emphasized his pallor. He looked as though he had not eaten a decent meal in months, and in truth, he had not. It hurt to eat. It hurt not to eat. And so, because he could not avoid the pain, he stayed crumbled in his corner like a forgotten doll, tossed and thrown away.   
  
He fought a battle he could not win, scratching and clawing his way from his private black hole. From his personal hell. He'd always taken what life had thrown at him, laughing and throwing it back. He had laughed in Death's face, daring it to crush him beneath its heel.   
  
And he had lost.   
  
He learned that Death played no games and took no prisoners. One mistake and the game was finished, with no chances to regroup and no chances to start over. Death won... and that was it.   
  
His mouth fell open, that gorgeous, full mouth, and he sighed. God, he wished life were like a Monopoly game. A roll of the dice and he could have been back at Go. One turn... and everything could have changed. But somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten his "Get out of jail free" card.   
  
His time was over. Death moved on to play its game with someone else.   
  
He no longer cared that he rotted in this filthy sewer. He was alone. The rats left him to himself and no one else ventured this far underground, not even the vagrants who had nowhere else to go.   
  
He had played his hand and now, he simply wanted to stay here, licking his wounds in peace. Too many crimes and too many witnesses had brought him to this state. Too many deaths... Many of those deaths had been human. Many others had been insignificant. He could not dredge up any regret for those deaths, only for hers.   
  
Only for Her.   
  
He could still see the light fading from her eyes as she died. He could still taste her coppery blood on his lips, warm and rich, sliding down his throat. His teeth stretched and lengthened painfully, remembering. Her silky hair shifting through his fingertips like raw silk. Her sky blue eyes filled with love and hatred...  
  
Yes, hatred.   
  
He shuddered, knowing it was the last emotion he would ever remember seeing. That hatred grew and pulsed in his mind, brushing at the last lucid edges of his consciousness. His mind railed at him, ignoring the old adage of forgive and forget. Seeing only the pain etched across her features and the betrayal in her eyes.   
  
He knew he had been wrong. He was not afraid to admit this. Admitting was the least of the punishment he'd inflicted on himself. Admitting was nothing. Living was where the problems started.   
  
She hated you...   
  
He cringed. Voices whispered through his mind. Her voice, voices he didn't recognize... They were all there. They lived in his head, mocking him, sleek and cold against his pain.   
  
Wincing, his rejoiced in his agony. Without it he would have nothing. Her memory would fade and she would be gone, lost like so many others. And even if meant this, surviving, but not living, he would die before he lost her.   
  
He had played with this idea forever. He had thought about joining her for as long as he could remember. His luck, though, had made a biting turn for the worse. With that in mind, he could only worry about ending up on the other end, burning in scorching flames while she grieved for him somewhere else.  
  
If she grieved. He had his doubts.   
  
His violet eyes darkened, burning pure and clear against his chalk white face. He was putting his faith in a mortal god, in a god that rewarded humans for atrocious deeds. If they could be redeemed, who said that he could not? He idly played with the thought of prayer before he discarded it.   
  
Prayer would not help him now. He could only help himself.   
  
And that meant one thing.   
  
He would go to Jez. She would help him. She would end this unceasing monotony, free him from this useless existence.  
  
She thought he was evil and she was probably right. They would both be glad when he left this world. All he had to do was show her what he had been, hiding what he had become. Then he would be free.   
  
He uncoiled his lanky body, standing for the first time in days, weeks, maybe months. He wasn't sure and it didn't matter.   
Life... Life was too long. He had finally stumbled on the way to fix that problem. Hope coursed through his body, racing to his fingertips. He would be free. His eyes slid shut, bloody tears sliding from them for the first time in years. And now, finally, instead of weeping in sorrow, as he should have done centuries ago, he sobbed silently in joy.   
  
He could taste her on his lips. Not her blood this time, but the memories of Her he had lost in his disillusion. He heard her whisper about the future in his ear, telling of time and a family they would never have. Telling of her love and not her hatred.   
  
He only hoped he would end up where she was.  
  
  
***  
  
  
"You're a coward, Kian Redfern," Giacinta mocked. "Why not just end it yourself? Why leave it to Jez?"  
  
He glared at her from beneath spiky black lashes. "You don't know what you're talking about," he answered coolly. "I came back to get the rest of my clothes. Now I'm leaving."  
  
She shook her head and strutted to a high-backed, forest green armchair, where she sat. She never looked away from him, her black eyes fathomless. "Running away again?" she wondered, her tone still mocking.   
  
"No," he replied flatly. "But I'm not staying here."  
  
She shrugged, one elegant shoulder lifting negligently. "Then, go. Nothing is stopping you."   
  
He turned to go, but curiosity made him face her once again. "What made you think I was going to Jez?" he questioned.  
  
"I can see it in your eyes," she said, contemplating him. He felt like she was judging him and finding him sorely lacking. "You're ready to die."  
  
"Two thousand years isn't long enough to live?" he asked and his voice was bitter.   
  
"Is that your reason?" she returned. "Or are you just tired of watching your soulmate die?"   
  
The last was said with a small, triumphant smile. Giacinta always won-always. He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. A spark of challenge flared inside him. Giacinta never failed to inspire that feeling-the feeling that made him want to beat her, that made him want to keep living just so he could see her fall. The feeling that kept him thriving throughout the centuries.  
  
He quickly reined his anger in. Why give her what she wanted? "Sometimes," he snapped, "I think that's the only reason you keep going."  
  
"Oh, mon cher," she laughed throatily. "You have no idea."  
  
He spun to walk away. She rose from her chair, moving toward him like a snake slithering toward its next meal, stopping him. Her hand reached out to gently rest on his arm and she smiled. "Kian," she started softly, persuasively.   
  
He froze. It took everything he had to remain still instead of jerking out of her grasp. "Don't--"  
  
"Don't what?" she asked quickly. "Don't touch you? Don't try convincing you to stay?" Again the throaty laugh came. "It's far too late for that now."  
  
He slowly slipped away from her, slowly enough that she didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late. Her hand fell to her side. Anger flooded through him, building up inside so fast no words would come. All he saw was a thick red haze. Dimly, while he tried to gather those thoughts into a biting retort, he heard a door yanked open and then slammed shut. Hurried footsteps sounded across the entranceway's tiled floor.   
  
"'Cinta! 'Cinta!" a tiny voice chortled. "I brought you a present!"  
  
His vision cleared enough to bring the owner of the voice into focus. A tiny four-year-old child scampered toward them. In her hands, she carried something, but she clutched it too tightly for him to be able to discern what it was.   
  
Giacinta frowned down at the child. She took the object from her gently, then brought it higher, peering at it. "You drank all of its blood."  
  
The child's eyes watered. "I was hungry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to drink it all."  
  
One of Giacinta's eyebrows raised. "Haven't I told you about drinking from animals, Morgan?"  
  
Morgan looked on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, 'Cinta."  
  
She smiled brightly and patted her on the head as if Morgan was a faithful dog. "No matter, ma petite," she said. "Just don't do it again."  
  
Morgan nodded. "I won't. I promise." Then she turned to look at Kian, cocking her head and staring at him much as Giacinta had. "Who is he?" she asked.  
  
"Il n'est personne d'importance. Tu dois nous laisser, d'accord? Je serai bientôt en haut," she replied rapidly in French. She watched Kian while she said this.   
  
Kian thought perhaps she looked for a reaction, but he wouldn't give her one. Even though he understood every damn word of what she'd said. He waited until the child darted forward to kiss her on the cheek and left the room.  
  
"No one of importance?" he asked her mildly, when they were alone again.  
  
She smiled uneasily. "The child wouldn't understand, Kian. Our relationship is-- complex, to say the least."  
  
"That's one way to describe it," he admitted. "I could think of ways that are better -- more graphic -- but why bother wasting the energy?"   
  
She shrugged. "Indeed. Why bother? I see no need to involve the child in something so base."  
  
"Where did you find her?" he asked suddenly, curious.   
  
"On a street corner in San Francisco, where her human parents had left her to die. She was so adorable," she remembered. "Just a little thing, malnourished and frightened nearly to death."  
  
Kian stared at her. "She's an illegally made vampire, not lamia?"  
  
"You know how much I love to break the rules," she said, not truly answering his question. Then a small smile played on her lips. "It didn't stop you, did it?"  
  
"You weren't four years old," he pointed out.  
  
"True," she acknowledged. "But is there really a difference?"  
  
He wanted to hit her, to wipe that smug smile off her face. Anything to hurt her. "You were old enough to protect and take care of yourself," he said coldly. "She wouldn't survive a minute on her own."  
  
"You'd be surprised. Morgan is resourceful, to say the least." She ignored his censuring glare. Meeting his eyes, she said, "You really should be going. I do have company, you know. It isn't polite of me to ignore my guest."  
  
"I wouldn't really refer to myself as company, Giacinta," a deep voice said from the doorway.  
  
Kian froze. The voice invoked memories he'd forgotten he had. Memories of hot summer days and of swimming in the still icy river. Memories of laughter and sharing, of joy and pain, of heartbreak and separation.   
  
He knew that voice. He hadn't heard it in years... Not since the last time his soulmate had died.  
  
Steeling himself, he turned to face the owner of that voice. Cold violet eyes met his, mirrors of each other, and the owner of those eyes smiled. "Hello, brother," he said.  
  
"Kieran," he acknowledged with a short nod. He said nothing else, waiting, trying to drag his tumultuous emotions into check.  
  
His brother continued to smile that hungry smile, replying, "I go by the name Christian now, brother. It's so much more modern, don't you think?"  
  
Kian didn't know what to make of this casual conversation. He didn't know how his brother could act like nothing had happened. But then, his brother hadn't been the one who had been hurt.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked abruptly.   
  
The smile dropped from his brother's identical face. "I came to see Giacinta," he said, all pretense of unity lost. "There were, of course, the other, less important reasons -- killing people, torture, destroying any happiness you might have found -- the usual."  
  
Kian's shoulders sagged. "It won't work this time," he replied. "There's nothing to destroy."  
  
Kieran didn't reply. He watched his brother thoughtfully, cruel violet eyes running over every haggard line of his face. Finally, his voice almost casual, he said, "I've found her you know."  
  
They both knew who he meant. Aeshli. Soulmate, Old Soul, friend, lover, and enemy. She was all these things and more.   
  
"Don't torture me for the hell of it," he warned.  
  
"I'm serious, brother dear," Kieran continued, as if Kian hadn't said anything. "She was in the hospital. I was visiting the patients -- out of the goodness of my heart, of course -- at Massachusetts General Hospital. The one off Fruit Street. She was here," he finished.  
  
Kian knew better than to hope. His brother would only tell him this for one reason. Aeshli was dead. He would wager his life that Kieran had killed her. Not that it was such a large price to pay. He would rather be with her anyway. His younger brother was ruthless, cruel, and destructive. Especially when it came to Aeshli's life.   
  
Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking for clarification. "Was here?"  
  
Kieran smiled, mock sadness playing across his face and in his eyes. "Yes, was," he sighed melodramatically. "It's funny how humans can't live without blood, isn't it?"  
  
He didn't even think. He launched himself at his brother's throat. All he knew was that his brother needed to pay for what he had done. What he had done countless times. He slammed Kieran against the wall, knocking an armchair over in his haste. Pictures flew off the wall and there was a loud thud as Kieran's head snapped back.   
  
"Why?" he snarled. His eyes were a deep purple color, speckled with red flecks, anger and pain etched deeply on his face. Flushed cheeks flamed against his supple white skin. Giacinta stood up, shocked and alarmed, but they ignored her.   
  
"Why not? She was human. Vermin. Do I really need a reason?" Kieran never lost his calm expression.   
  
Kian took a deep breath and forced his fingers to loosen. He stepped back. He wanted to kill him, but he knew better than to try.   
  
His brother brushed himself off almost fastidiously, then smiled. "She never even woke up, brother," he mocked softly, "but she died thinking it was you."  
  
Kian saw red -- a deep, dark red like the color of his brother's hair. Not quite the color of blood. Too dark and deep and full of danger. It washed over him like a tidal wave and he had to stop himself from attacking his brother again. He didn't trust himself to speak until he was calm.  
  
"Play your games, Kieran," he advised bitterly, "but remember that one day I'll return the favor."  
  
His brother nodded, acknowledging this. "Of course," he replied softly. "I expect no less of you."  
  
Kian nodded briefly to both of them and walked to the door with his head held high. He stopped there, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He never looked back. He simply walked through the door and kept walking.   
  
Down the steps. Past the overgrown flowers lining the path. Around the bend in the sidewalk. He knew better than to show them fear, than to show them how much they'd hurt him. He was out of sight now, trees blocking any view they might have. He made it all the way to the street.  
  
Then he ran.   
  



	2. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 2

He ran from his memories. Blindly, he turned down one twisting street, seeing her on the corner. His brother joined her and then there was only blood. He chose another street, swiftly turning left to avoid the picture before him. His brother sat on one of the broken steps. She was there, too, draped over his brother's lap like a limp rag doll. Blood flowed like a river around him. Down an alley now. Here she lay in the scarlet mud, blood soaking into the earth around her. His brother smiled. Kian kept running.  
  
He ran from his past. Bodies, bloody and broken, found their way into his path and tripped him. Children cried out his name, grasping at his shirt and bemoaning their fate. Mothers sobbed their grief to the world at random, clutching at their children's graves. Fathers, tears running down their faces like sorrowful, silver trails, screamed out their anger and brandished guns in his direction. They could not hurt him, but still Kian ran.   
  
He ran from his future. Again, Aeshli lay dying on the street before him, like so many times before. Her blood mocked him, whispering how futile it was to fight, murmuring that he would not win this game, and foretelling that Aeshli would always die. His conscience ate at him, laughing through its acid bite. You started this, it whispered. You were the one who condemned her to death... He saw her pleading with him, desperate. Kian, please, if you love me, you will do this for me... Please, Kian. Dying in every lifetime, drowning in the pain that was her life, she begged him to end it. He saw her against stark white sheets where she writhed in agony. Make it stop.   
  
And Kian ran from that, too.  
  
He ran from the present. Kieran stood in front of him, always smiling, always triumphant. I killed her, Kian. She thought it was you. He watched Aeshli die slowly in front of him. He had not seen her death, but he knew Kieran well enough to know that she died in pain. He would have made sure of that. Tears streamed down his face. His life would never change. Always him, killing, maiming, running... Always running.   
  
When he could run no more, he stopped, resting his hands on his knees. His breath came fast and broken and his muscles burned. His eyes slid shut, drawing on his inner strength, then he stood straight and glanced around.   
  
God, I missed this, he thought, staring at the bright lights and colors. People milled aimlessly, completely involved in their own world and ignoring everything on the fringes. Buildings reached gracefully for the sky, stretching in clean lines with mirrored glass. Trees lined the broad streets, straight and proud against the filthy sidewalks.   
  
It was beautiful.  
  
Kian smiled, enchanted with the world he'd long forsaken in order to wallow in self-pity. No more. He wasn't going to go to Jez, hoping he would find her. Hoping he would get lucky. He would find Aeshli in her next life. He would stop Kieran from destroying her. He would find a way. All he had to do was search, following one step behind his brother, while being one step ahead. So what if he'd missed her in this one? He always had the next and the one after that.   
  
Happier after coming to that decision, he ambled lazily down the sidewalk. People passed him by, talking on their cell phones or walking their dogs. One animal smiled wolfishly, as if to say, Hey, I recognize you!  
  
Werewolf, Kian snorted. She was obviously playing some kind of game, one he didn't want to know anything about. Werewolves could be strange. He continued down the street, taking everything in.  
  
Maybe it happened because he wasn't expecting it. Maybe he had just picked the right time or maybe he was paying just enough attention to what was going on around him. Whatever the reason, a glint of fading sunlight suddenly played on dark as midnight hair, catching his eyes.  
  
She moved like one of them. Gracefully, as if she was stalking her prey. She drifted towards him like a dream and brushed past him. He felt the graze of her skirt against his leg. Every hair on his body prickled. Without stopping to think, he turned to follow her.   
  
He reached out, his fingers sliding against slick fabric, and stopped her. "Aeshli?" he asked hopefully, fearing it and wanting it at the same time.   
  
She turned, sighing as though she didn't want to be bothered. "Do I know you?" she asked coolly, then she saw who he was. She had to stop the flare of recognition from jumping to her eyes.   
  
Kian's heart leapt into his throat. It wasn't possible. Kieran said he'd killed her... But why should he believe Kieran anyway? Kieran made lying seem like a contact sport.   
  
She looked just like Giacinta, almost exactly like she'd looked in every lifetime, except for her eyes. He knew her by those eyes. Clear blue, like crystals, with the deepest dark blue ring around them, sucking him in. No one but Aeshli had those eyes.   
  
"Your name," he repeated hesitantly, "is it Aeshli?"  
  
She sighed again. "Look, if this is some kind of new pick-up line, I'm kind of busy. Now if you'll excuse me..."   
  
Leaving that sentence trailing in the air, she turned to go. He jumped forward, reaching out to grab her wrist. "Wait," he pleaded, just before he touched her, and then everything turned vaguely pink.   
  
She wrenched back, gasping, "What did you do? Who are you?"  
  
"My name is Kian," he answered quietly. He gave her all the space she needed. "I've been searching for you forever."  
  
She moved back another step, the vampire she was stalking long gone, and let her eyes sweep over him, just once. He wore his khakis slung low on his hips and a dark green cable-knit sweater from Ralph Lauren.   
  
At first, she thought she was looking at Christian Redfern.   
  
He had the same clear violet eyes lined with the same sky-blue flecks, burning like the core of a flame. Not blue, not violet, but somewhere in between. The same burgundy hair, some strands so dark they were almost black and some so pure a gold they glistened in the almost nonexistent light. The same high cheekbones and the same sensual bottom lip. He even had the same devastating touch, but he wasn't Christian.   
  
She knew that as surely as she knew she would kill him. He may be the walking, breathing image of the Christian she remembered, but it wasn't him. His eyes didn't glint with the cold cruelty she remembered Christian's eyes holding. His hair wasn't neat or perfect; it lay tousled across his forehead like his hands had run through it a million times in agony or thought. His cheeks didn't have the same harshly drawn look and his mouth lacked the mocking twist. But...  
  
How she'd felt when he touched her was the same.   
  
She shook those thoughts away. "My name isn't Aeshli," she said flatly. "I'm not whoever you're searching for. Please leave me alone."  
  
His face fell and his shoulders slumped. She didn't remember him. She didn't want to know him. All this time fighting to find her and now another fight lay before him. "Aeshli, please," he implored.   
  
"Will you stop calling me that?" she snapped. She sighed yet a third time. "If you have to call me something, call me by my name. It's Cameron."  
  
"Is that what you're calling yourself in this life?" he asked absently.  
  
Her pale eyes glinted. "Cameron is my name. It has always been and always will be." With that said, she turned to go.  
  
"For this lifetime," he conceded, following her.   
  
She stopped dead and whirled to face him. "Stop that," she commanded. "And don't follow me. You can go wherever you like -- preferably to hell -- but I'm going home. You're not invited."  
  
The last was said flatly and brooked no argument. He shrugged and continued to trail a few steps behind her. "That's not going to work, you know," he informed her idly, "telling me I'm not invited. I'm coming anyway. I've looked for you for too..."  
  
"Fine, come," she interrupted icily, refusing to look back, "but don't expect to get any farther than the door."  
  
He smiled. The door? Oh, he'd get inside. He had no worries about that. He hummed softly to himself, suddenly without a care in the world.  
  
****  
  
He insisted on calling her Aeshli.   
  
She wasn't sure why, but it bothered her. Tickling at the back of her brain, calling to her, the name invoked images she knew were not hers. Or were they? She was in them. Laughing, smiling, dying... And always -- always -- this boy with hair the color of blood managed to make an appearance. She didn't understand. She had met this boy only once before, going by a different name.   
  
He had called himself Christian. Not Kian, although the names were similar and the faces identical. But there had been something different about him then. This version lacked the cruelty so sharply etched across his features and the grim resolve. And this one -- this mirror of the boy she loved in spite of herself -- seemed happy to see her in this life. Not sad, not purposeful, but hopeful.   
  
Something was different...   
  
And as she walked, she slipped back into that memory, as clear and sharp as a motion picture.   
  
He sat at the edge of her bed, that gorgeous boy with hair the color of mulberries and eyes like flame. The predatory edge had been there even at the beginning. He leaned languidly against the ugly hospital chair, ignoring the ripped plastic clawing at his thighs and the uneven limp to one side.   
  
She clutched her teddy bear closer to her chest and simply watched him. She was not a timid child, but this boy -- this man sitting so close to her -- would send any human into a faint.  
  
She understood well that he was not human.   
  
"You'll die soon," he was telling her confidently, "and if not, we'll meet again."  
  
"Why?" she whispered. Wasn't it enough that she was scared and alone in this big hospital by herself? Why did he have to make it worse?  
  
He eyed at her thoughtfully. "Because that's simply how it is," he responded with a careless shrug. "You always die."  
  
Then, with all her eleven-year-old wisdom, she'd told him scornfully, "Don't be silly. You can't die more than once."  
  
He laughed then, she remembered. Delight lit up his eyes and brought a pretty flush to his marble-like cheeks.   
  
Handsome, she corrected herself. Boys weren't pretty.  
  
"You can," he insisted. That was when she decided he was crazy. "You've lived a thousand times, over and over. All this," he gestured around the hospital room vaguely, "has happened to you before, in all those thousands of lifetimes." He sat up straight and leaned forward to stare into her eyes. "Except for in the first."  
  
She had the nagging sensation that everything he was saying was true. She didn't like it. Torn between belief and disbelief, she whispered, "What happened in my first lifetime?"  
  
He'd caught her. Satisfied, he slumped back in the chair again. "My brother killed you," he shrugged, his voice still casual. "That's why you have the problems with your heart. It's his fault."  
  
Definitely crazy, she thought, but she wouldn't let him know she thought that. "I don't believe you," she stated clearly and calmly. She set her teddy bear down on the bed and looked at him solemnly out of those clear blue eyes.  
  
He paused, blinking, then he recovered. "You should."  
  
"Well, I don't," she answered defiantly.  
  
A flash of that charming smile, quickly gone. "It doesn't matter. You'll die soon enough. As you're dying you'll know that I was right."  
  
Her eyes flared. "I'm not going to die," she snapped. "I won't."  
  
He leaned in again. "You will," he taunted. "Don't say I didn't warn you." A half-dreamy smile played across his lips. "I can tell you how it happened. He was drinking your blood, playing with you... You thought he would stop, you see -- but he didn't. He drank and drank and drank. All that rich, coppery blood sliding down his throat..." He sighed, his voice trailing off. And then, catching himself, he continued, "And you were a smart little thing. You stabbed him with a branch. I was quite impressed. But, still, you missed his heart. He wasn't very happy about the bleeding -- Kian never has been much for the sight of blood, which is a pity, since he's a vampire." He ignored her gasp and continued talking over her. "So he took that branch and stabbed it into your heart. But he didn't kill you. Not right then. He just scratched or bruised it or something. I'm not really big on technicalities."  
  
"And that's why my heart bleeds in every life," she concluded quietly. She was wise for her eleven years.  
  
"Yes," he nodded. "So you see, you really don't have a chance."  
  
He stood, having finished what he had come for. He reached out and patted her gently on the head. She gasped, but he must not have felt the world quiver, because he turned around to walk out the door. He paused at the entrance, turning back to deliver his parting shot. "Remember, if your heart doesn't fail you for some reason in this lifetime, I'll be back to finish the job." Another flash of that devastating smile and he was gone.   
  
And the worst had been that he was right.  
  
She had died.   
  
Only for a few seconds, but in those seconds she had remembered his words. You will die... As the surgeon had placed her new heart into her chest, somewhere those words had played in the stream of her consciousness. The consciousness she wasn't supposed to have.   
  
She remembered those words, carried them with her through her whole life. Looking around every corner for him, waiting for the moment when she would die. He had promised. She had every confidence that he would keep his word.   
  
She had thought Kian was the boy who had visited her in the hospital, but she knew now he couldn't be. He wouldn't be calling her Aeshli. The other boy -- Christian -- had called her by nothing but her name. Cameron. And again, Kian seemed happy to see her, not resigned or even cruel.   
  
Christian had said something about a brother... This must be him. But that would also make him the one who had killed her.   
  
Fear whispered down her spine.  
  
Ignoring the boy who was following like a faithful puppy, she marched quickly to her apartment. She wondered how she was going to be able to make him leave her alone.   
  
Or if there was any way at all.  
  



	3. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 3

Cameron opened the door and darted inside, intent on leaving him standing in the cold. The door pushed behind her, catching. She paused. Somewhere in the apartment -- it sounded like the kitchen -- someone was humming softly to herself and dreaming. Not that she could read minds, but somehow -- someway -- she knew.   
  
"Caam-renn," a voice like tinkling silver bells called. The voice could only be Jessa's, full of warmth and mischief, sparkling with that something that was uniquely her. And besides, Jessa was the only one who could possibly be home at this time in the afternoon.   
  
Smiling, she glided into the kitchen. "Hey, Jessa," she greeted. "Productive day?"  
  
"You have no idea," Jessa replied, rummaging in the refrigerator. For what, Cameron wasn't sure. Jessa didn't eat human food. "First," she said, finally settling on the orange juice, then straightening up and turning around, "Xanthe managed to... Oh," she paused. "What have we here?"  
  
Shit. She must not have shut the door all the way. Not at all like she'd thought. Jessa's gaze was frankly admiring. That meant only one person could be standing behind her. Kian. He must have taken it upon himself to come inside.   
  
A moment of silence stretched between the three of them while Jessa and Kian inspected each other. She already knew what Jessa would see. A haunted, desperate, and somewhat pathetic Kian Redfern. Those soulful flame eyes staring at her with his inner self laid bare. But what Kian saw, Cameron didn't know.  
  
She glanced over Jessa with appraising eyes. Straight golden hair tumbled down her back with not a hint of curl. A slim, slightly boyish figure, clad in short gray shorts made from something like sweatshirt material and a tee shirt that barely grazed the bottom of her ribcage. Melting, chocolate brown eyes. The effect of all this resulting in a dazed Kian Redfern.  
  
Something flared inside her. With shock, she realized it was jealousy. Don't be stupid, she told herself harshly. You don't want him. He kills you, remember? You want him to stay away.   
  
But telling herself that didn't make the jealousy go away.  
  
She realized then that Jess was speaking, asking her something, and she forced herself to concentrate on those words. They were much less painful than the thoughts running through her head.   
  
"...introduce me to your friend?"   
  
Cameron shook her head grimly, pitch black hair cascading around her. "He's not my friend," she replied, her voice matter-of-fact. "Actually, I believe I told him to stay out of our apartment."  
  
"I never have been good with instructions," he shrugged apologetically. He wasn't really sorry. She could tell from the look in his eyes. No, not sorry at all. He looked downright pleased with himself.   
  
She almost had to stop herself from staking him. Jealousy was an awful thing. Add that to a self-satisfied vampire who just happened to look exactly like her soulmate and you wouldn't find Cameron in a good mood. Just the opposite.   
  
Jessa shrugged. She leaned back against the refrigerator, uncapping the orange juice and letting her brown eyes warm in Kian's direction. Cameron had to grit her teeth. Men just melted at that look. "He's here now. Not much we can do about it. So what's his name?"   
  
"Kian Redfern," she replied, smiling coldly, knowing the reaction that statement would elicit.   
  
She was the only one who wasn't surprised when Jessa's eyes narrowed, a shimmering silver sheen overlaying the melting chocolate, and her mouth opened in a grimace, baring her sharp white teeth.   
  
"In that case," Jess demanded, "why haven't you staked him yet?"  
  
***  
  
Kian felt his eyes widen. Stake him? He hadn't done anything! Well, nothing to merit being staked. Not in his opinion. And anyway, the only thing this girl knew about him was his name. That wasn't...  
  
Oh.   
  
Her name was Jessa. As in Jessa Winters, the soulmate of Kieran's last "project." Or the last one Kian had heard of. He would stake money on this guess. Unfortunately for him, Kieran often "borrowed" his name to cover himself and any horrible deeds he'd done. He must have used Kian's name for that endeavor, because there was no other reason this girl would hate him.   
  
"I don't know what happened," he started, "but..."  
  
"You don't know what happened?" she interrupted icily. "You were there. Don't you remember slitting Deven's throat? Watching as layer after layer of skin was peeled off by your damn lackeys? Sneering as--"  
  
He cut her off cleanly. "No, I don't. But I remember watching my soulmate die the same way, thousands of times."  
  
That earned him a scornful glare. "Killed her, too, did you?"  
  
"No," he replied calmly. "My brother did. He seems to get around."   
  
His eyes were wide and guileless, but his mind was shut. He knew he should open it, allowing her to probe inside so she could see the truth of his words. He couldn't. His mind guarded too many memories, all grim, most brutal. He was afraid if she looked inside, all she would see was endless darkness, like a tunnel with no end. Sparse and far between, happiness --but only a few moments of happiness -- glimmered like weak torches.   
  
They weren't easily seen.  
  
Kian knew how she felt, at least to some degree. To know your soulmate was dead, out of reach, was like having something vital cut from you. Nothing fit together and everything washed around you in a way that was almost surreal. On the other hand... Kian had found his soulmate again. And in every other lifetime she had lived, even if those lives had been cut abruptly short. Deven, a made vampire, wasn't ever coming back.  
  
But Jessa was strong. She survived. Kian didn't think he could ever do that, living day after day in torment, knowing he would forever be alone. Jessa was a fighter and Kian was, too. But in very, very different ways. He had only just met her, but he could feel strength -- not physical, but spiritual-- radiating from her like a burning white aura. Jessa didn't seem the type to wallow in self-pity.   
  
Right now she eyed him warily, suspiciously, still leaning against the refrigerator in that deceptively casual pose. He knew in one second she could be across the room with a stake already planted in his heart.   
  
"Really?" she asked skeptically. "How nice of him. What was his name again?"  
  
He could tell she didn't believe him. He answered carefully, knowing better than to risk more anger. "He's gone by many names, but now he goes by Christian. His real name is Kieran Redfern."  
  
Aeshli --no, Cameron, he corrected himself -- gasped. He glanced at her quickly, reaching out to touch her mind. It was as carefully guarded as a brick wall, complete with barbed wire and electricity. He felt a shock when he brushed against it, but without touching her, he could not get past the barriers.   
  
Jessa didn't seem to notice. She relaxed slightly, but without letting down her guard. "I could have heard the name wrong," she admitted, although he knew she would watch him every second until he proved himself. Her brown eyes were sad. "I never saw him, the boy who killed my soulmate. I only heard the names. Heard the stories."   
  
"I saw him," Cameron injected softly.   
  
They both turned to stare at her. Jessa's voice suddenly sharp, she asked, "Was this him?"  
  
She shook her head. "He looks like him. The very image of the Christian Redfern I knew, down to the way he walks and each strand of his hear. But he's not Christian."  
  
"Kieran," Kian corrected, while at the same time, Jessa asked, "How do you know?" Something hawklike played over her features.  
  
"His mind doesn't feel the same," Cameron answered honestly.  
  
Now it was Jess' turn to gasp. "You're... soulmates?" she whispered, hurt waving across her features and pulsing from her almost tangibly. She stood up straight then and looked at Kian in a new light. "Well, then," she said briskly. "It seems we have a problem."  
  
Panic flared through Aeshli's -- Cameron's -- eyes and she shook her head adamantly. He heard her in his mind, but it wasn't a thought. At least not a rational one. Just one word, running over and over like a broken record, gathering speed like a ball careening madly down a steep hill.   
  
The word was "no."  
  
***  
  
NO, NO, No, No, no, no, no no nononononononono...  
  
The word repeated itself in her head. Whisperings in her mind alerted her that her guard had dropped and she slammed it back down with the force of a battering ram. Oh, no, Jessa. How could you?, she asked silently. As if being Christian's, or rather Kieran's, soulmate wasn't bad enough, she was going to make the problem worse. How did she know Kian wouldn't go straight to his brother? How did she know Kian wouldn't betray them? Cameron knew, but even she wasn't positive. This could all be an act, some kind of spell.   
  
Couldn't it?  
  
It wasn't possible to have two soulmates. This was a fact. One soulmate to each person, thank you, please come back tomorrow and try again. But you could try as many times as you liked and you wouldn't be able to trade him or her in. Tough luck. Soulmates were someone you were stuck with, even if you didn't like that person.   
  
Cameron felt this especially, with one soulmate out to kill her and the other just a little off his rocker. But there it was again. Two soulmates. How did she explain that? The answer was simple.   
  
She didn't.   
  
She simply hadn't thought about it. When Kian had touched her the first time, she had frankly ignored the signs, although ignoring it was easily as difficult as ignoring a flashing billboard. She had thought he would go away, which was fine by her. One less problem to deal with.   
  
Only this problem blatantly refused leave. This problem followed her, invaded her house, and wounded her friend. But... she guessed the problem could be worse. He could be Christian Redfern.   
  
Again she corrected herself. Kieran Redfern. It was hard to think of him by that name, although it suited him much better. Kieran was nowhere near religious. The name she knew him by originally now felt like blasphemy. Regardless of his religious habits, or lack thereof as the case may be, his name wasn't Christian. This revelation didn't make him any less dangerous or any more Puritan -- although that would be a nice change, considering the rumor of the "no damage, no death" rule in the vampire Puritan history.   
Yes, she could definitely live with that and the key word here was "living." Goddess, how she wanted to stay alive.   
  
"Now," Jess was saying, "try to understand what exactly is going on here. Cameron and I are on a mission. Joining us are three friends: Xanthe, Damalis, and Remy."  
  
Oh, good, Cameron thought, panicked. Give him all our names. Maybe he'll send flowers when he kills us.   
  
"You waltz into our apartment--"  
  
He interrupted. "I really wouldn't say that was a waltz, although I can show you one sometime if you like."  
  
That earned him a glare. "--and you tell me you're Kian Redfern. The vampire who supposedly destroyed my soulmate. For us, this is a beautiful opportunity. Because our mission is to kill you." A bright smile. Cameron felt suddenly nauseated. "Then, I find out not only do you have a brother who is also a vampire," she continued, losing the smile, "but you and my dear Cameron are soulmates."  
  
"Kieran is my twin," he replied grimly. "And believe me, if I had known it would be better to kill him at birth, he would not be here now."  
  
"You're not twins," Cameron interjected, finally finding her voice. That knowledge washed over her like dam breaking, sudden and consuming.   
  
Shock made Kian's face whiter, if there could possibly be a shade that pale. "We are twins," he insisted dryly. "I was there, remember?"  
  
She shook her head. She didn't know why, but somehow his statement seemed wrong. But no words came to refute this and she was left feeling blank. Why had she said that?   
  
Jessa, intent on accomplishing something, although Cameron didn't know what that was, persisted, saying, "Whatever you and your brother are, I can't kill you. I won't take from Cameron what you took from me. And that leaves us at a stalemate."   
  
Cameron ignored the relief flooding through her body. "If you won't kill him, I will."  
  
Two pairs of shocked eyes snapped to her face, which was set with grim resolve. And on Kian's face wavered hurt and disbelief.  
  
"I have spent my life waiting to die," she hissed. "First because of my heart and second because of his brother. And if one of them is dead, it makes it that much easier to kill the other, because then I don't have to guess which one I'm staking."  
  
"He's your soulmate," Jessa answered, shocked. An emotion that did not often express itself in her. "You can tell which one it is by only his presence."  
  
She didn't think now was the time to tell her that they were both her soulmate. Or soulmates. Touching wouldn't do her any good. Too many spells existed to disguise one or the other. She just didn't want to deal with it.   
  
Instead, she replied evenly, "So you would think." To Kian, doing nothing to hide the lethal edge in her voice, she said softly, "Get out of our apartment before I do it now."  
  
Kian didn't want to go. Something told him if he could stay here or convince her, she would change her mind. But one look into her flat blue eyes altered that opinion. Without a word, he pushed past her and walked out the door.   
  
But hopefully not out of her life.   
  
Every time he found her, some problem prevented him from keeping her. Usually it was that his brother killed her in the next few days. He was getting rather desperate. After all, there was only so much a person could take before they were driven to something really awful. He didn't want to think about what this new problem was driving him towards.   
  
Besides, he was confused. Aeshli -- he could hardly think of her by any other name -- hadn't died. Somehow he knew she was nineteen, an age she had never reached before. The limit had always been sixteen. Three extra years. But what could that possibly mean?  
  
He racked his brain, trying to think of some reason that could have kept his brother from killing her. He came up blank. Maybe Kieran was slipping in his old age, although he doubted it. Something was off with this scenario.   
  
He had every intention of finding out what it was.   
  
***  
  
Jessa finally slipped from her position by the fridge, taking her orange juice and nearly falling into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "Why?" was all she could manage.  
  
Cameron sighed, knowing the shock and memories that still haunted Jess' mind. "I need time to think," she answered. "I need time to deal with this. It's not every day a vampire approaches you and tells you he's been searching for you for nearly two thousand years."  
  
"Most of them know better than to approach you," Jess agreed absently. Most vampires knew their reputation. What they didn't know was that most of the people who were stalking them were vampires as well. It was a fact they often learned too late.   
  
But Cameron wasn't a vampire. She was a witch and a damned good one at that. She had more power in her than Jessa had ever been able to accumulate, even when she was the type to go on rampages and drink with the best of them. That period had been short. She had quickly learned that humans were not always the vermin they were reputed to be.   
  
Cameron seemed to be lost in thought, thoughts Jessa knew she probably shouldn't break into, but knowing how important it was to get this into her head, she murmured, "Don't kill him, Cameron. You'll spend the rest of your life regretting it."   
  
Cam glanced up at her, shattered, and Jessa drew in a deep breath, wondering if she should let her friend reply or continue her lecture until she got it into her thick skull. And Cameron's skull could be as thick as they come. Then, she said, "I'm not really going to kill him, you know."  
  
Jessa relaxed. The tension flew from her muscles and her eyes softened. "Good," she told her softly, "because you will spend the rest of your life regretting it if you do."  
  
Cameron wondered if she realized she'd just repeated herself. "I know."  
  
She stood then, stretching. "I'm going to bed, Cam. It's late and we have a five in the morning wakeup call tomorrow." She paused. Hesitating, she asked, "Will you do something for me?"  
  
"Of course." Cameron didn't hesitate.   
  
Jessa stared at her hard, searching. "Promise me you won't kill your soulmate, Cameron Aderyn."  
  
Cameron matched Jess' look with one of her own. "I promise not to kill Kian Redfern," she pledged, but she said nothing about his twin. What Jessa didn't know wouldn't hurt her.   
  
Jessa was satisfied with that, but again, she didn't -- wouldn't -- know the difference. She smiled that beguiling smile, the one that drove men crazy, and started gliding to her bedroom. Jess never just walked. "Night," she called over her shoulder.   
  
"Night," Cameron called back.   
  
Jessa really should know her better, she thought. Even she knew she had responded a little too easily to the request. She must not be feeling well, she decided. She hadn't even picked up on the "his mind doesn't feel the same" comment. Just that she'd been in Kian's mind. Not that she'd been in both their minds.   
  
And that led to another problem. Jessa was calling off Kian's assassination, but what would she do when she realized Deven's murderer had been her soulmate's twin? What would Cameron do then? She was pretty sure Jessa wouldn't like finding out she couldn't kill that one either. Although...  
  
With two soulmates, Jessa could very well decide one was expendable. Cameron shuddered. She may be afraid of Kieran, she may know he would kill her before she had time to even draw a breath, but she also knew his death would destroy her.   
  
It shouldn't matter. Either Kian or Kieran should be enough for her. She shouldn't need them both. Two soulmates, yes, but also two halves... Not two wholes. The reason demanded an explanation, but for some reason it eluded her.   
  
She only knew she needed them both, as much as Kian needed Kieran and vice versa.   
  
She rubbed a weary hand over her face and checked her watch. One. She should listen to Jessa more often. Four hours of sleep were simply not enough. Idly, she wondered where her other three roommates were. Awfully late for them to be out... Especially since they all had to get up at the same time. They were probably out terrorizing some innocent bystander.   
  
Not that it mattered. Around those three, bystanders rarely stayed innocent. Come to think of it... Bystanders rarely stayed alive.  
  
She nearly winced, imagining the trouble they could be causing. If Remy got his claws into any unsuspecting males out there... They could be losing more than their hearts. They could be losing all their intestines. She shook her head. It wasn't her problem. Right now, her problem consisted of trying to decide what to do about one Kian Redfern.   
  
And honestly, it wasn't something she really wanted to think about. She'd done enough thinking in her lifetimes that she shouldn't ever have to do it again. She only wished that excuse would hold up in real life, not just in her head.   
  
Bedtime, she decided. Four hours of sleep weren't nearly enough to keep her bright eyed and chipper at five in the morning.  
  
As for Remy, Xanthe, and Damie...  
  
She shrugged. Let them have their fun.  
  
They wouldn't have much of it after tonight.   
  
  



	4. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 4

Nightmares plagued Cameron. They always had, courtesy of one Kieran Redfern. But this dream was different. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. This dream was not a nightmare. It was a memory.  
  
And it wasn't hers.  
  
Wind blew strongly against her slight form, whipping her hair and clothes around her like they were being torn from her body. She couldn't see through the tangled mass, could only hear and feel. The wind roared in her ears and she shivered. One small hand, dark like the color of rich mahogany, reached up to push that tangled mass back behind her ears.   
  
She realized suddenly where she was. Standing at the prepice of a high, deadly cliff. The ocean clamored miles beneath her. No, not the ocean. A river. A swiftly moving, churning river. Goddess, she thought to herself, are you crazy?   
  
But she had no control over her actions. She could only wait and see what would happen next. And less than a heartbeat later, she threw her head back and laughed. Wild and free, it battled the wind and died in the tumultuous air.  
  
Then she was spinning, running back to the fire, where warmth beat away the cold and baked away her freedom. She was leaping and glorying in these few precious moments, lost in herself and the world around her. She was unfettered and unrestrained. The pyre loomed ahead.   
  
Calming herself, she slowed her walk to a sedate pace, entering the circle of light where others danced and whooped wildly. The smell of burning flesh was strong. In the center, a young woman--too young to be searing under the deadly flame--was laid in stately repose. At her chest and piled around her were the scorched remains of beautiful flowers.   
  
Death. The thought came to her so quickly she took a moment to realize it was not hers, but that of the girl whose memory she saw. And then she was swept away in the girl's tumbling thoughts.   
  
A time of rejoicing and laughter. This was death. Why be afraid of what you could not stop? It was only a transition from one plane to the next, a step in the circle of life. And with every death came birth, with every passing of one soul, a coming of the next.   
  
Giddy excitement skittered through her as she stretched to peek at Old Mother's tent. A birth came tonight to the one with pale skin and eyes like flame. She had arrived exhausted and broken one night. No one knew from where she came. No one dared ask questions. The answers might bring unwanted troubles.  
  
A shiver raced down the girl's spine. The air held the taste of magic and promise. Anticipation crackled like electricity, but electricity was far less dangerous. The girl did not know this. She knew only that tonight something would change.  
  
The vision shifted rapidly.  
  
Smoke rose and curled in a blue mist, hanging suspended around her. It smelled of something bitter yet sweet, twining around her in its own dance, to a different beat than the flames. Yet somehow the beat was not different.  
Sounds of merriment chased through her mind and pulled at her concentration. She knew somehow this was important. The words flowing from her lips in a steady chant--words she knew she shouldn't understand yet did--must continue to pour forth in an unbroken stream. She pushed the outside noise to the back of her mind. Ignoring those sounds suddenly became the most important thing in the world.   
  
She stared down at her hands, wrinkled and old, clasped in a grasp so tight something should break.   
  
Something did.   
  
The stone clattered to the ground, rolling to its rest in the center of the fire. The other half stayed securely captured between her palms. This wasn't supposed to happen. Fear quivered in her stomach, but she continued. She could not stop now.   
  
The words surged forth and her tone changed, just slightly, but she could not prevent the desperation from staining those words. She tried desperately to bring her thoughts back under control. Her mind knew how much rode on these words, even if her body did not.   
  
The flames quickened, curling and dancing in agonizing leaps. The stone buried in their midst glowed a scorching blue, the color of the pale one's eyes. Panic tumbled inside her, but she could not retrieve it from its place. Her hands could not leave the stone she still held. Fascinated, she watched the intensity brighten. The fascination only masked her fear. She knew with absolute certainty that something was wrong.   
  
Her chanting rose until it was almost a shriek, ascending and twisting over mountains, racing over lakes and streams. And then, in one heart-wrenching moment, it stopped. A heartbeat. The words began again, flowing over and over, their death announcing their birth. Birth and death. Light and dark. She could not quell the uneasiness rising inside her weathered heart.   
  
This time, when the words climbed to their nearly deafening crescendo, a bolt of lightning shot through the sky and spiraled downward, plummeting into the core of the fire before her. Then, shimmering, it hung in the air. She had seen this often enough. The children with destinies, those who served some greater purpose, the Pure Ones, all owned souls like this. It was nothing new to her--until it shattered in two. Two beautiful blue souls hung suspended in the air before they took flight to the pale one's tent. She stifled a whimper and continued her chant, missing only a single beat. But it was enough.  
  
A keening wail and then silence. Deep and painful silence like the bite of a snake. Frightening, beautiful, and deadly. The stone fell to the ground. And before she could draw another breath, she was up and running as fast as her tired body could take her. Only when she reached the fire did she stop.   
  
Carnage sprawled before her. Her tribe, her children, lay scattered among ashes. They lay still and so quiet they could not breathe. But while she stared in amazed silence, one and then two began to move until they all stirred. All of them... except the children.   
  
No hope could be held for them. Their charred remains fell scattered around the circle of light like offerings to the gods. Not one escaped. And as the others realized this, the chanting acknowledgement of death started again. Only this time the chants were of lament.   
  
She whirled, forcing her body to carry her to the pale one's tent. Surely those souls had not survived. Too small and weak to face a power such as this. Too fragile to battle death.   
  
She paused at the entrance, listening for the inevitable sounds of grief. None echoed within the thin walls. Fear shot cleanly through her soul this time, but not because the children might have died. No, this fear was born because the children might have lived.  
  
She pushed back the entrance flap slowly and eased her gnarled body inside. Pale One stared up at her, eyes shining so like the stone, so like the core of a flame. She smiled. Her gaze dropped back to the bundles in her arms.  
  
Old Mother gasped, for cradled in her arms were not one but two babies. They were perfect mirrors of each other, each one somehow complementing the other in some wild and indescribable way. Already their heads were covered in a fine pelt of flaming hair. Hair the color of blood. They met her eyes and gurgled in unison. The windows to their souls held too much knowledge in their depths. Somehow, Old Mother sensed they were hungry. That same voice told her milk would not satisfy their thirst.   
  
Pale One glanced at her then, her face shining with an inner radiance. Startled, Old Mother realized that she did not know. She spoke finally, her voice soft. "I shall call one Kyen, the other Kyaren."  
  
***  
  
That night, Kieran dreamed as well. His dreams, like Cameron's, were memories. But these were his. These were the memories he guarded himself from, the ones he locked away. The ones that hurt to think about. Memories that invoked coldness, like the stark brush of an icy winter wind. They doused him in a cold shock every time he thought about them. Because Kieran, for all his outward pretense, was not happy. He had been once.  
  
The day was almost peaceful. Sun streamed to grace the water licking at the riverbank. Tiny tongues of water lapped lazily at the shore. A fish jumped, arching through the air before slicing underneath the cleansing water in a graceful dive. Then a tinkle of innocent, childish laughter pierced the air.   
  
"Watch, Kyaren!" the voice matching that laughter cried. A pebble skittered across the murmuring surface. Another fish vaulted from the water to catch the pebble in midair.   
  
"Let me try," he demanded, jealous that his twin--his elder by mere seconds--had learned this trick first.   
  
His mirror dropped the fistful of pebbles abruptly. "Don't be jealous," he said quietly. "It doesn't matter. Here," he instructed, reaching out his empty hand, "You can see it, too."  
  
Kyaren reached out his own hand, identical to the one extended toward him, the same down to the pattern of their fingerprints. He brought it to touch his twin's solemnly. With the touching of their hands, their minds fused.   
  
We are the same, the voice that matched his said. Don't you see? We are the same, Kyaren. Always we will be together. We are One.  
  
And in that moment, Kyaren had known that without Kyen, he would never be whole.  
  
The air shimmered and changed.   
  
A different scene this time, perhaps eons later. Kyaren sat hunched over a book, his eyes squinting to read the cramped lines of text. Kyen lounged carelessly beside him.   
  
"Amazing things, these books," Kyen admitted, turning his own over in his hands. His strong fingers traced the binding absently. Without blinking an eye, he changed the subject, asking calmly, "Why did you kill her?"  
  
Kyaren froze, forgetting too late that he could not hide anything from this brother of his. "Kill who?" he responded in the same nonchalant tone.  
  
His twin's eyes flamed. "You know who," he stated coldly. Kyaren didn't like the tone of his voice. It was too controlled and full of barely concealed rage.   
  
Kyaren shrugged. "Does it matter?"  
  
Kyen sat up suddenly, his muscles tense. "You know it does. You of all people should know it does."  
  
He stared at him with one eyebrow raised. "She was vermin." Only a tiny nudge of guilt at the back of his brain said otherwise, but the reason for the guilt was something that would be kept hidden. Forever, if he had his way.  
  
"She was my soulmate!" his twin burst out angrily. He stood, pacing around the room as he raged. "How many times I have I lost her because of you? How many times have you killed her now, Kyaren? I've lost track!" He stopped suddenly and whipped to face his brother with all his hurt written plainly across his face.  
  
Kyaren watched him coldly. "A thousand minus one, brother," he snapped. "Because if you remember correctly, the first time was your fault."  
  
His twin inhaled sharply, injured by this remark as Kyaren had known he would be. His face was whiter than should be possible. "This one will be the last." His voice held a warning his twin knew he should not ignore. He stalked out of the room, away from his brother.   
  
That time had not been the last. The rift had widened until it was a chasm that could not be breached.   
  
Again the dream changed.  
  
He was alone this time. The wind blew around him, whipping the smell of trash and death close to his nostrils. He didn't notice it. A body lay at his feet, eagle-spread and still. She was deathly pale--as she should be. Her body no longer contained the life force that fed her heart.   
  
He stared down at her idly, cataloguing her features with no apparent concern. Straight nose, carefully chiseled cheekbones, sculpted mouth, the bottom lip fuller than the top. Long black hair spread around her and her blue eyes were staring. Those eyes, flat with death, had not in life held the color of the sky at breaking dawn. They were only blue. But in everything except those eyes, her resemblance to Aeshli was striking. He hadn't killed her for any other reason.  
  
A thud sounded behind him, so soft he would have missed it if he were human. He spun, feeling his fangs lengthening and readying for battle if the need should arise. Standing before him was someone he thought he would never see again.  
  
"Quinn," he acknowledged cordially. His eyes swept over the black clad figure beside him, but he said nothing else.  
  
Quinn's eyebrow raised. "Kieran," he returned. "I thought someone had staked you."  
  
Kieran's replying smile was bitter. "No luck there, I'm afraid. I know how much you'd hoped."  
  
"You can't have everything," Quinn shrugged. Then his eyes narrowed. "I hear you've been on quite the rampage lately."  
  
The girl beside him spoke up then. "Girls with black hair and blue eyes," she said coolly. "Humans are starting to talk about a serial killer."  
  
He glanced carelessly down at the girl with black hair and blue eyes at his feet. "So?" he asked. "What did you intend to do about it?"  
  
Seconds later he found himself flat on his back, the girl straddling his chest, looking at the wrong end of a very sharp stake. Surprised, his lips parted and he gasped. He hadn't thought he was among friends, but he hadn't thought he was among enemies, either.   
  
She looked absolutely pleased with herself. "This," she answered finally.  
  
He looked over her shoulder to meet Quinn's eyes, deliberately relaxing his body beneath her. Let her think she was really a threat. Whatever made her happy.  
  
"So stake me," he encouraged insolently.   
  
She would have been all too happy to oblige, but she and Quinn had their orders. She kept the stake trained over his heart while Quinn moved closer.  
  
"Actually, Rashel and I have a proposition for you," Quinn responded. "You join Circle Daybreak..." He shrugged. "Or you die."  
  
Then the human Rashel added, "And we will know of any contact you have with the Night World." She smiled a little too fiercely for Kieran's tastes. "We have our sources."  
  
And that had been it. There really was not a choice between life and death. Kieran was already dead. Not the kind that walked, alive but without a soul. No, his soul had died centuries ago, when he lost his brother--his other half--and his soulmate at the same time. He no longer even thought of himself like he was alive. He was just an empty void that walked and talked, going through the motions and hoping that one day, something would work itself out.  
  
It hadn't gone exactly like he'd told Cameron.   
  
There was far more to it than that.   
  
As he dreamed, remembering the train of thoughts leading to the moment he abandoned the Night World, that memory flooded into full color before him. He could have been watching it on television. Except he wasn't. He was watching his long ago self realize in horror what was going on.  
  
He was walking through the clearing near their hut. His brother had gone out. Where, Kyaren didn't know. But that had been hours ago and he had fallen asleep waiting for him to come back. Then something had drawn him from sleep. Simple as that. He didn't know what it had been, but when he woke, a vague longing had filled him, pulling him to this area.   
  
He hadn't expected to find his brother with his face buried in a girl's neck. And especially not a girl he knew.  
  
It was her. He'd met her before tonight, several times. She was beautiful. Long, black hair cascaded down her back in waves. Her eyes were blue and sparkling, like the color of the sky at breaking dawn. Her face was small and heart-shaped with a small nose and full mouth. She was gorgeous... and she was his soulmate.   
  
He strode to his brother and pulled him away roughly. "What are you doing?" he demanded harshly.  
  
Kyen stared up at him, his eyes shattered. "I--I don't know," he stuttered. Tears welled up and bit his lower lip. "She's my soulmate."   
  
Kyaren crouched near her body, reaching out to check her pulse. Nothing. "She's dead." His tone was accusatory.   
  
"I didn't--" The tears spilled over. "I didn't mean to kill her," he finished quietly. His voice shook as he kneeled over her limp body.   
  
Kyaren shook his head sadly. "You're bleeding," he pointed out. No point in dwelling on it now, was there? He would always have his brother and that was the most important thing.  
  
His twin glanced down at his shoulder. "She stabbed me with a branch," he said. He sat back on his heels like he was trying to get away, but her body would never disappear. It would haunt both their dreams. "I deserved it," he admitted.   
  
Shaking his head, Kyaren leaned over and pushed at her body. It fell back with a thump. "What happened here?" he asked, tracing a scratch along the girl's breastbone.  
  
"I don't know," Kyen answered, his eyes still wide with anguish. He leaned forward to get a better look at the mark. "I must have hit her there while she was struggling."   
  
"Must have," his twin agreed. He watched his brother through lowered lashes. Some premonition told him this girl would always be the cause of strife between the two of them. She was better off dead.   
  
"Maybe she's one of those souls that keeps coming back," Kyen inserted suddenly. His voice was full of hope.   
  
Kyaren didn't say anything. He didn't want her coming between them in some other lifetime. If he had to, he would make sure she was dead before that happened. He kept the knowledge that she was his soulmate as well to himself. It was information his brother didn't need to know.  
  
"I'll take care of her body," he said. "One of us must return before Mother wakes."  
  
Nodding, Kyen backed away from the scene and ran back to the hut. Kyaren lifted the bloody branch lying near her body and stabbed it deep into her heart.   
  
"You will not come between us," he whispered as still warm blood seeped from the wound. He did not realize this scene would haunt him through his long lifetime. He did not know that this deed would trigger a chain of irrevocable events. He knew only that his twin must never understand what had happened here.  
  
It was this memory that pulled him screaming from his sleep every night.  
  
***  
  
They jumped awake in rooms far from each other, as though fingers had been snapped before their faces. Both drew in heavy, deep breaths, panting in horror. Both stared into the darkness that took on the shape of their pasts and threatened to smother them under heavy arms.   
  
Cameron felt tears rising to her eyes for the charred children; Kieran felt tears rise to his eyes for what could have been. Cameron wondered what she had just seen; Kieran wondered why he had seen. They both searched for the reason things had gone terribly wrong, even though they both knew the answer.  
  
And both were saddened by it.  
  
Cameron's brow furrowed and she thought about her dream. Kian and Kieran's birth had been tinged in darkness, despite its innocence. She knew the lady who Old Mother had known as Pale One was a vampire, even if Old Mother had not. With death comes birth, and with life, death. The words imprinted themselves on her mind. She puzzled over those thoughts for a moment, then shook her head to disregard them.   
  
The dream had been startlingly clear. Not a vision, certainly. Visions were far too often muddled and confused. No, she understood perfectly what had happened at the twins' birth.   
  
One soul, hanging in the air, waiting to be born into a cruel and unforgiving world. Then... Something had gone wrong. No explanation came to her, just this vague feeling of error, as though...  
  
...as though the soul was never meant to split, but was roughly broken in two by some unseen hand. Without its other half, neither soul would ever be whole. Their lives, their destinies, their dreams--everything--was intertwined and inescapable.   
  
Only one thing bothered her.   
  
She could not distinguish between the two halves. One should be dark, stained with actions that were to come. But neither had. Both souls, in those scant moments hanging above the fire, were a clear, pure blue, as though nothing would ever stain them.   
Something was wrong with this picture. She knew well enough how black Kieran's soul became and what horrendous deeds he'd done. After all, people whispered he had killed a Wild Power and Cameron had heard from someone in Daybreak itself this was true. How, then, could his soul be pure?  
  
While Cameron marveled over these thoughts, Kieran brooded over his own. Two innocent little boys devastated by one sinister act. Repeated over and over again, the effect snowballed until nothing but destruction remained where it hit.   
  
He was sick of it.  
  
He was tired of killing his soulmate. Every time he felt her mind link with his before gradually fading out of existence, he died a little more. This time he tried to let things happen on their own. But Fate failed him. Despite what he had told Kian, he knew with every nerve and every cell in his body that she lived. Each day it got harder to think about killing her. It also became harder to stay away from her.  
  
He wanted...  
  
He sighed. He wanted so many things, but his actions would prevent him from getting them. He tried to redeem himself. For nearly five hundred years, the only human he had killed was Aeshli -- with the exception of those girls who looked like her. He knew that didn't make it better. He had joined Daybreak, hoping he could cleanse himself from his deeds. In the darkness, his lips twisted into a grin.   
  
Oh, the reaction that swept through the Night World when they learned he had "killed" a Wild Power. The Witch Child, no less. How lax they became...  
  
In reality, Daybreak converged in Thierry's mansion and laughed themselves silly. Iliana especially. Her death had been only too easy to fake. So while the Night World celebrated their victory, Daybreak waited for the battle yet to come.   
  
He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on his breathing. He saw no sense in getting himself worked up at this time of night. Rest, Kieran, he told himself. There's much to do tomorrow...  
  
And eventually, they both slept again.  
  



	5. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 5

Morgan lay curled drowsily against Giacinta's side. "Tell it again, 'Cinta," she requested. She referred to the book resting in her foster mother's lap. Fairy tales she'd heard multiple times that night, never mind previous nights. If prompted, she could probably recite it on her own.  
  
Giacinta groaned. "Morgan, it's three in the morning. Do you really need to hear it again?" Morgan nodded, waiting. She smothered a sigh of impatience. "Let's recap. The monsters eat all the goody-two-shoes little princesses and live happily ever after, okay?"  
  
Morgan's lower lip jutted out stubbornly. "I want to hear the whole thing."  
  
"We've read the whole book," she snapped. "Twice."  
  
"I haven't heard it yet," a voice like raw silk said from the doorway. "What's one more time?" Kieran rubbed his eyes wearily. He'd fallen back to sleep only to wake again. He didn't look any better for it.  
  
"Bed, Morgan," Giacinta commanded sharply. This time Morgan knew not to argue. She slid off the couch and rushed over to Kieran. He bent down so she could place a sloppy kiss on his cheek and bestow him with a fierce hug. With a pout aimed at Giacinta, she shuffled out of the room and up the stairs.  
  
Kieran ran a hand through his ruffled hair. He walked across the room, staring blearily at the wall like he was aiming for a certain spot, and dropped on the couch beside her. "Was that really necessary?" he asked.  
  
She glanced over him quickly, taking in the rumbled clothes and creases left by the blankets on his face. "What happened to you?" she responded, ignoring his question. "You look like a bad case of insomnia."  
  
"Insomnia doesn't walk," he corrected. "I do."  
  
"For the time being," she admitted. "Although if your dear brother gets his hands on you, that may change."  
  
Kieran shrugged. "Kian won't do anything to me. He's under the misconception that if I die, he dies. I'm not sure I mind that at all. It keeps me safe with very little trouble."  
  
She nodded, agreeing, but didn't say anything. The silence settled around them like a thick, comfortable blanket. Neither felt the need to break it due to uneasiness or discomfort. They knew each other well enough to treat the silence for what it was--lack of anything important to say.  
  
Watching him without bothering to hide it, she saw the creases fade slowly from his malleable skin. Something like unhappiness haunted his violet eyes, but she was used to seeing that emotion. For as long as she'd known him, Kieran Redfern had not been happy.   
  
She'd tried to change that once, hoping her obsession with Kian would disappear during a relationship with his twin. It hadn't happened and they'd both known it. Finally they'd settled on something that suited them both far better--friendship. But still he was not content.   
  
Knowing that ate at her, but she didn't know what to do about it. Eventually she accepted that only one thing would make him happy. She wasn't it. She didn't know what was. She blinked, then he slowly came back into focus.   
  
He leaned his head back against the couch. It was a habit both twins had and she knew what it meant based on previous experience. He was going to tell her something she probably didn't want to hear.  
  
She was right.  
  
"I'm leaving," he said simply. No other explanation. Just those two words, which held a depth of meaning she could not begin to decipher.   
  
Startled, her black eyes widened and she sat up, swiveling to face him. "Where are you going?"  
  
He didn't look at her or open his eyes. His body was relaxed, but she sensed his muscles tensing beneath his calm façade. "Ireland," he said casually. "Home, I guess."  
  
It wasn't entirely the truth, but she didn't need to know that. He was going home, but now home meant Vegas, in a dingy little apartment close to Thierry's mansion. He wasn't around enough to mind the shabbiness or the tenants occupying the apartment while he wasn't there. At least he didn't have to worry about bugs. Well, not the kind that crawled anyway.  
  
"You're coming back, aren't you?" she asked, with a little more concern than he expected.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Why, Giacinta, I didn't know you cared."  
  
"I worry about you," she admitted reluctantly. "You've never been quite the same since that little tiff you had with Kian."  
  
He raised one burgundy eyebrow and waited, but nothing else came. She was downplaying it a little, calling it a tiff. They both knew it had been more of a battle. She may not have been in the room when it happened, but she'd been in the house. As long as she'd been on the same block, she would have heard what went on. The shattering glass and screaming would have been hard to miss.   
  
That she called it a tiff was definitely an understatement, but then again, she had always been good at throwing those in his face. She liked to see how he reacted.  
  
When he felt he'd waited long enough, he promised softly, "I'll always come back."  
  
He saw her visibly relax. The twins kept their promises. And because Kieran always kept his promises, Aeshli had to die. He didn't relish the thought of killing her again. He didn't know how many times he would rue an oath made to Kian in a fit of anger, but there it was. An oath. Something he couldn't break, whether he wanted to or not.   
  
As if she'd been prompted, she asked, "Is that a promise?"  
  
He nodded. She accepted that without any questions, knowing he would be true to his word. He always had, hadn't he? She glanced at him again, then laughed. "Kieran, go to bed. You look like hell."  
  
He glared at her. "Thank you, Giacinta. You always did do wonders for my self-esteem." Nevertheless, he stood up to follow her advice, stretching as he rose. If she said he looked as bad as he felt, she was probably right.   
  
"Goodnight, Kieran," she said sweetly.  
  
The corners of his mouth curled. "Goodnight, Giacinta," he replied, his voice just as sweet and somehow more sarcastic. He walked out of the room slowly and she could see the fatigue curtailing every move he made. Worry curled in her stomach before she dismissed it. She'd tried, but he wouldn't let her help.   
  
Kieran's problems were his.  
  
She sighed, leaning back against the couch. She knew she could no longer interfere in the twins' relationship with each other, but, really, wasn't that what she was doing? She'd spent her entire life meddling in their affairs, but not to improve or destroy anything between them.  
  
She was far more selfish than that. She knew it, too.  
  
Kieran was nothing more than a way to get at Kian, to find a way to make him pay. He'd condemned her to eternal life and then abandoned her. It was not something Giacinta appreciated.   
  
She'd been infatuated with him from the moment she'd seen him. He was gorgeous and strong. And he was a wanderer. Maybe not a gypsy, but close enough that her tribe might accept their courtship. She'd wanted him, so she had pursued him. It had taken quite a bit of effort on her part, but eventually she'd won. Or so she'd thought until he tried to walk out of her life.   
  
A frown wavered over her lips. When Kian made her a vampire, it was supposed to bind her to him. Instead it had only pushed them apart. And when she told him she loved him, he laughed at her. He laughed and walked away.   
  
Kian was good at walking away or disappearing if he didn't want to be found. His latest disappearing act lasted longer than any of the others. Twenty years. She didn't know where he'd been or what he'd been doing. One day he had walked out, and then, twenty years later--to the day--he'd strode back in like nothing had happened.   
  
And then he had the nerve to tell her he'd only come by to get his stuff. She should have burned it.   
  
He'd done nearly the same thing the first time. Not quite the same, but he had changed as much and as many times as a chameleon in only the three hundred years she had known him. She couldn't expect him to do something more than once. No, that would be asking too much of him. Kian, if nothing else, was unpredictable.  
  
The first time... The memory lingered in her mind as clear as the day it had happened. Every action, every thought, every word...  
  
"Make me a vampire." It was so simple, this request, that he stared at her in shock. He didn't realize she knew. Or maybe it was something he didn't want to acknowledge. Either way, she had shut him up rather effectively.  
  
His violet eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he answered blithely.   
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Kian, don't be ridiculous. We both know what you are. I've seen you feeding in the woods."  
  
He blushed. She didn't know vampires could do that. Then he said, "What I am is my own concern. I'm not turning you into a vampire."  
  
She shrugged then, twisting a blade of grass between her fingers. "Why not?" she asked negligently. As though she was asking why he couldn't go for a swim instead of why he couldn't kill her.   
  
He turned to her then, his face more serious than she had ever seen it. "You don't know what it's like," he replied viciously. His violet eyes flamed with anger. "You're a gypsy. You aren't a murderer, but you will become one if I grant you your request."  
  
"To some people, gypsies and murderers are one and the same," she pointed out. She watched him carefully, searching for the slightest sign of weakness. When she saw what she wanted, she continued, "I know what I want. If you won't give it to me, I'll find someone else who will."  
  
He smiled then, his teeth lengthening beneath her gaze. "If you insist," he said. He moved his body so it was closer to her. He leaned in and there was a brief moment of pleasure when she felt his lips against her neck. She shivered. She'd wanted him, this, for so long now.  
  
Then he bit. The pain was fierce, running through her body like poison. Through the haze of pain she heard his mind-voice telling her this would be over soon. A moment later, the pain suddenly stopped.  
  
He pulled back, lying her carefully against the grass before raising a hand. He slit his own neck, just a tiny cut at the base of his throat, and guided her head to it. The blood had flowed into her mouth, rich and thick. Warm life-giving fluid full of the essence that was Kian Redfern.   
  
When it was over, she was slightly dazed. Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this.   
  
"We must do this two more times before you come a vampire," he said casually.   
  
She reached up to finger the tiny puncture wounds at her neck. "Then I will be immortal." Awe filled her voice.  
  
He shook his head. The two times came and went quickly. The final time, he told her what she needed to know before they started. Things that would help her survive as a vampire. He must have been planning to leave even then. Finally, he told her the thing she feared most. That she would be reborn, but that first she must die. Death was what she tried to escape. She had spent nights awake dreading this moment.   
  
And as she died, her consciousness flowed out of her and darkness overwhelmed her senses. Fear paralyzed her until she remembered nothing else.  
  
When she had woken, he had been gone. No good-byes or promises. Just gone.   
  
She had wanted to hate him for it. She still did. She wanted to hate him for many things. One memory in particular haunted her, making her cringe every time she thought about it. It was when she told Kian she loved him.   
  
"Kian, please don't walk away again," she begged, tears springing to her eyes. She searched for him so long and he was going to disappear. Again. "Please," she whispered. "I love you."  
  
He laughed. Strong, deep laughter that wounded her. "You don't love me," he said bitterly. "You want me. I'm a prize to be won. Nothing else."  
  
Frustrated, she shook her head. "No, it's more than that," she insisted. Why didn't he understand?  
  
He sighed. "Giacinta, you don't know anything about love, except the love you have for yourself. I have a soulmate. Whatever you feel can't replace that."  
  
"How would you know?" she asked. "Have you ever tried returning someone else's love? Have you ever looked for anyone besides this girl?"  
  
"No," he answered. His face was grim. "I haven't. I don't need to and you wouldn't either if you would look for yours instead of wasting your time with me."   
  
She glared at him. "You owe me," she snapped.  
  
His mouth fell open in surprise. "I never made you any promises. You asked to become a vampire. I made you one. I don't owe you anything now." His eyes narrowed. "I tried to talk you out of it, remember?"  
  
Her face set, she replied, "You will be mine one day."  
  
He walked away laughing.  
  
If nothing else, she didn't want him to be happy. He'd left her, dammit. She found out later -- too late, probably -- that he'd only made her a vampire because she looked like someone named Aeshli. And so she got back at him the only way she knew how: she helped his twin kill his soulmate.   
  
She still wasn't sure why Kieran let her help or even why he killed this girl in every lifetime. She didn't ask because it wasn't any of her business. He kept his reasons to himself. She was happy knowing she was helping to destroy Kian's life. It was enough for her.   
  
She checked her watch. Four. The nights she and Morgan read bedtime stories always ran late. She had better get some sleep now, before the sun was up and sleep was impossible. Besides, there was work to do.   
  
Kian's soulmate needed to die.   
  
***  
  
The next morning, Jessa had questions. A million of them. She didn't even wait for Cameron to get up, but barged right in and planted herself on the bed until Cameron agreed to answer them.   
  
She ran a hand over her bleary face and commanded her head to stop throbbing. It didn't listen. "Jess, before we talk about this, make me some coffee. I can't think without it."  
  
"You and your caffeine addiction," she sighed. She rose off the bed and glided out Cameron's room into the kitchen. Cameron heard a drawer slam, then water started running. Something rustled.   
  
She sighed, flopping back against her pillows. She still didn't know what to make of her dreams from the previous night. Too many questions... and no answers. Wasn't that how it always worked? It irked her, much like sinking in sea of quick sand. Some way to get free existed, but often the solution came too late. This problem may not be quite as dire, but Kieran's promise haunted her. In both situations, death was imminent.   
  
Despite the innocence that seemed to touch his soul, she knew without a doubt that Kieran was the one they searched for. If she killed him first... She would be missing half of her soul. Or rather, a third of her soul, if she had interpreted last night's dream correctly. But she would be alive.  
  
She sat up, one hand reaching out to grab a sweatshirt. The apartment was cold, not that the vampires in their group often noticed that sort of thing. She swung her legs over the bed and pulled the sweatshirt on, wincing as her unused muscles stretched.   
  
"Coffee's done," Jessa called. Cameron flinched at even her soft voice. She pulled herself out of bed slowly, praying she could find the Advil when she got into the kitchen. Remy thought it was candy, so they ran out frequently.   
  
By the time she managed to drag herself in the room, Jessa had laid out a mug, a spoon, sugar, and a doughnut. She was pouring cream into the mug. "Cameron, you really don't need this stuff," she said. "I've seen what it does to you."  
  
She moved out of the way and Cameron sat at the table, which was empty save for the cordless phone, a flower arrangement Remy had insisted on, matching placemats, and breakfast. Jessa dropped down across from her. Spooning sugar into the steaming coffee, Cameron retorted, "Caffeine is good for me. It helps me function."  
  
Her friend shook her head. "The stuff is awful," she muttered. She paused, watching as Cameron bit into the doughnut, then continued, "About last night..."  
  
"What about it?" Cameron asked evenly. She calmly picked up her coffee, sipping at the hot liquid. Her eyes met Jess' over the rim of the cup.  
  
Jessa raised one elegantly arched eyebrow. "Why did you tell your soulmate you were going to stake him?"  
  
Cameron had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Because I needed him away."  
  
"Cameron, he's been searching for you since dinosaurs roamed the earth. You could have at least given him five minutes." She rolled her velvety brown eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh.   
  
"He got ten," she replied, her voice flat. "Fifteen, actually."  
  
Jessa simply looked at her, her expression as unfathomable as the oceans in their deepest, darkest depths. "But did you let him talk?"  
  
Cameron was stunned. Good point, Jessa, she applauded silently. "No, I didn't," she admitted out loud. "I wasn't exactly thinking rationally."  
  
"Excuses, excuses." She shook her head, her heavy blond hair swinging wildly, and propped her elbows on the table. Her eyes were distant. "But if it was Deven and I was in the situation you were in, I would have done the same." She sat back then, looking idly at the ceiling, the walls -- anywhere but at her friend -- as she continued, "Maybe you should go look for him."   
  
"Jessa, this is Boston," she reminded, laughing. "I could be dead before I found him." Sobering up, she waited. Avoiding her gaze was something Jessa always did when she knew her suggestion would be met with opposition.  
  
Jessa finally met her eyes. "But you don't think that if he knew you were looking, he would find you?"  
  
"Not now that I've threatened to kill him," she muttered. Her mouth twisted wryly and her face grew sad.   
  
Jessa shrugged delicately. "Then make it known that you've had a change of heart." She picked up the spoon, letting the grainy sugar fall away, staring at it like it was a new plaything.   
  
"I don't even know where to start," Cameron admitted. She, too, was watching the light shine off the spoon, sending its beams in every direction, only to fade away. Like every one of her lifetimes.  
  
Flinging her blond hair over one shoulder, tucking the other side behind her ear, Jessa didn't say anything. Instead she stood and walked over to a drawer. She pulled it open quietly. Cameron heard the items in the drawer rustle and jingle softly. Some keys, maybe, or some pens banging against one another. Then Jessa pulled out a small slip of white paper, turning to face Cameron. She hesitated, then walked back to the table, resuming her previous seat.   
  
Without a word, she handed the paper to Cameron. She followed Jess' example, remaining silent and unfolding the paper. Written on it in Jessa's slashing handwriting was a number.   
  
"What is this?" she asked, curious.   
  
Deadpan, Jess replied, "A phone number. What does it look like?"   
  
She ignored Jess' tense voice, looking at the number more closely. "Maybe I should be more specific. Whose number is it and why did you give it to me?"  
  
"Her name is Erin. She's a witch. Give her a call. She'll find him without any problem." Jessa picked up the phone and held it out to Cameron. She obviously meant to make sure Cameron did it now.   
  
Cameron took the phone from her hand reluctantly. Looking down at the number, she punched it into the phone and lifted it to her ear, listening to it ring. She was about to hang up when a voice that reminded her of the vast night sky, enigmatic and full of knowledge, spoke.  
  
"Erin here," the voice said coolly.   
  
She glanced helplessly at Jessa, who simply shrugged and nodded. No help coming from that corner. "Hi, this is Cameron Aderyn. My friend gave me your number--" she started, only to be cut off in mid-explanation.   
  
"Right, that would be Jessa," Erin interrupted. "What can I help you with?"  
  
The phone crackled. "I need to find someone," she replied, wondering what she had gotten herself into. She looked over at her friend, staring at her with promises of retribution in her eyes.   
  
"No problem," the voice on the other end of the phone answered. "We can do it now. I'm booked solid for the rest of the week. Can you meet me by the Courthouse?"   
  
Now? She didn't want to do it now. But Jessa was staring at her with that expectant look on her face and Cameron really didn't have much choice in the matter. "Sure," she said finally. "I'll be there in about an hour."  
  
"Bring something you don't mind burning," the witch replied. "I'll see you then."   
  
The call was cut off abruptly. She lowered it from her ear, pressing the button and staring at it in shocked surprise. Something she didn't mind burning? Well. It seemed she would be finding Kian sooner than she had thought.   
  
"What are you waiting for?" Jess chided softly. "You've only got an hour. You can answer my other questions later."  
  
Cameron glared at her, but rose and walked into her room to change nonetheless. "You'd better hope I don't regret this," she warned. Goddess knows what would happen if she did.   
  
  
  



	6. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 6

Jessa watched the apartment door slam behind her with satisfaction. Someone -- Cameron, to be more specific -- was not happy. She'd get over it. Eventually she might realize Jessa had her best interests at heart, even if she wanted to stake her in the meantime.   
  
She was so stubborn. She'd been that way in every lifetime Jessa had known her. Every suggestion Jessa made was met with opposition and every warning smiled at, but ignored. Jessa had never seen someone run headlong for death as often as Cameron.   
  
This time she refused to let her die.   
  
Cameron had more lives than their cats -- all eight of them put together. But it didn't mean that something couldn't change. Jessa would not lose her charge this time, no matter what else happened. If she had to stake every damned vampire in the state of Massachusetts, the witch girl would stay alive.   
  
Jessa didn't take her responsibilities lightly, and especially not ones that came in the form of one Cameron Aderyn. And the girl was not only her responsibility, but also her friend. Had been in every one of her lives, as far back as the one where Deven made Jessa a vampire.   
  
Her name had been Aeliri then and she had been human, much like Jessa herself. There the similarities ended. Whereas Jessa was innovative, determined, and strong, Aeliri was confused, innocent, and helpless. Once Jessa had realized this, she'd taken Aeliri under her wing. And that was how it had started.   
  
They had been inseparable, helping each other at inopportune moments, picking each other up when they fell. And the depths to which Jessa sank when Deven had died had been almost unreachable. Aeliri hadn't given up on her. Then she had found Aeliri not a month later, drained of all her blood.   
  
Needless to say, Jessa had been devastated first at the loss of her soulmate, then the loss of her friend. When the old witch had approached her, asking her for more than a simple favor or an easy task, she hadn't even hesitated. The answer had never been a question. And so, with very little persuasion and minor responsibility shock, Jessa had become what she still was today. A Guardian.  
  
After all, what else did she have to live for?  
  
Certainly not her soulmate, who Kieran had killed. She knew Kian hadn't been the one to do it, although Cameron wasn't aware of it. The whole mission had been nothing but a ploy to reunite the two of them. Jessa had known what Cameron's excuse would be, but she'd had to come up with a damn good one for her own.   
  
It really hadn't been that hard. She'd simply used one twin's name in the place of the other's, told Cameron her story, and then informed her that "Kian" had a penchant for pseudonyms. She hadn't told her any lies. Just altered the facts a little. And in reality, it was the only way Jessa could think of to counteract Cameron's untimely habit of dying. Always right after her soulmate found her.   
  
Besides, Cameron unconsciously seemed to realize that she was tired of death. She might not remember her past lives, but they were certainly a part of her. Jessa, who had been there for all of them -- with a little help from Erin -- was especially aware of the similarities, as well as the things Cameron had grown out of.   
  
Erin played a big part in Jessa's role as a Guardian. She was just full of spells that Jessa found endless use for. Erin, in fact, was the reason Cameron was still alive today. Jessa's face grew sad, remembering the first meeting with her charge in this era.  
  
Sick, frail, weak... and lovely. That was how Jessa would always think of her. Big, blue eyes had dominated a thin and ravaged face and Jessa had been angry. Angry that her life was always like this, angry that she couldn't do anything about it. And angry that Kieran had let her suffer. She still wasn't sure why he hadn't killed her in this life, but she did know one thing. If he had, he would have been doing her a favor. No one deserved to suffer through that.   
  
So she'd fixed it. She'd made a trip to Erin and come back with a heart. Not in her hands, of course, but she and Erin had rigged it so Cameron would get it. Her name was moved up a little on the waiting list, then there it was. A heart that was compatible with her blood type and everything else. One that her body wouldn't reject.   
  
After that it had been easy to befriend her and eventually talk her into joining their mission. Damalis, Xanthe, and Remy were really just along for the ride. Everyone had been content. Remy was happy staking vampires for a living. Jessa and Cameron would help Xanthe fulfill her mission as a Guardian in exchange for her and her charge's help now. Cameron and Damalis were the only ones in the group who didn't know this, but that was part of the price the Guardians paid, one of the few rules they had.  
  
In short, being a Guardian was simple. You only had to keep your charge alive. But... When you factored in the part about not being allowed to tell your charge who they were, why they were there, or let on that you knew anything about them, things got a little difficult. Remembering to draw the line between what you knew and what you were supposed to know sometimes got confusing.   
  
Jessa hoped she had been careful enough this time. She didn't think Cameron had caught on. But, one never knew... And it could be that Cameron was fully aware of Jess' role in her life. As long as she kept the fact that she knew to herself, everything would be fine.   
  
A door slammed somewhere in the apartment. She could hear Remy's light, padding footsteps -- always with that hint of stalking grace -- coming toward the kitchen.   
  
"Jessa, darling, you should have seen the delicious specimens we found last night. Gorgeous bodies... And their necks were simply divine." Remy sighed, walking into the kitchen. He stretched like a lazy cat, his muscles rippling across his naked shoulders. "I would have brought one home for you, ma petite, but I took them out for dinner instead."  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Took them out for dinner?"  
  
He grinned, glints of gold twinkling in his tawny eyes. "Took them to dinner, had them for dinner..." he shrugged. "It's all the same."  
  
"Incorrigible," she muttered, shaking her head and leaning back in her seat. "Remy, one of these days you're going to meet someone who's got you eating out of his hand instead of what that hand is attached to."  
  
"Found him," he responded cheerfully, unperturbed. "The silly man won't admit he wants me."  
  
"I don't know why," she said blithely, shaking her head. "It couldn't have anything to do with that episode in New..."  
  
"Not a thing," he interrupted, cutting her off and sending her a warning glance.   
  
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Next time you see him, you might have to start by apologizing."  
  
"I will do nothing of the sort," he replied. "It would take me years to atone for everything I've done."  
  
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't question. She was probably better off not knowing. "Just remember that when you watch him walk away again," she warned.  
  
"He'll give in eventually, " he grinned. "He couldn't possibly hold out much longer." Then, changing the subject, he asked, "What about you and your soulmate? Where might he be found?"   
  
She was saved from answering by a knock on the door.  
  
He groaned, walking towards the door. "It's probably more of those damned bill collectors looking for that sorry excuse of a--" he paused, throwing open the door. "Well, well... I stand corrected. What have we here?"  
  
Kian stood framed in the doorway, the light streaming at his back and shadowing his chiseled features. Jessa didn't miss the uncertainty playing across his face. "Is Cameron here?" he asked quietly.   
  
Remy shook his head. "Sorry, sweet cheeks," he answered. "No luck. But I would be more than happy to fill in for her if you're looking for some company."  
  
Kian blinked. "That's okay," he responded. "I'll just come back later."  
  
"Oh, there's no need to do that," Remy answered, opening the door wider. He stepped back to give Kian just enough room to get by. "Why don't you come in?"  
  
Amusement blossomed in Kian's eyes. "I'm really not interested," he emphasized, much to Remy's dismay.   
  
"Well, mon cher, if you ever get lonely, you know where to find me," he said, smiling suggestively and licking his lips.   
  
"I'll keep that in mind," he muttered.   
  
"Leave him alone, Remy. Kian is taken." Jessa had moved to the doorway to get a closer look at him and now stood at Remy's side.   
  
Remy's face fell, his gaze sweeping over the vampire one last time. "Oh, you're the Kian Redfern." With a long suffering sigh, he took another step back to let Kian past. "Cameron always gets them first."  
  
Kian stepped into the apartment, arching one slashing burgundy eyebrow. "Will Cameron be back soon?"  
  
Remy shrugged.  
  
"She's out looking for you." Jessa gestured vaguely at one of the chairs. "Why don't you have a seat? She should return shortly."  
  
With one cautious glance at Remy, he uneasily complied. The chair he chose was large, but he somehow managed to dwarf it. He sat back, letting his hands slide down to rest on his knees, where his fingers drummed nervously or impatiently -- Jessa couldn't tell.   
  
"We don't bite, you know," she said gently. "At least not those of our own kind."  
  
An unholy light entered Remy's eyes, but he kept his mouth shut. Jessa knew he was dying to say something. From the look on Kian's face, he knew it, too.  
  
Finally he admitted, "I'm not worried about you. I'm concerned what Cameron will do when she finds me here. Remember? Last time she threatened to stake me."  
  
Remy sighed dramatically and clucked his tongue. "That's terrible. Someone needs to teach our little Cameron how to treat a man right." He sent a sly glance in Kian's direction, opening his mouth to continue.  
  
"No, Remy," Jessa interrupted, cutting him off before he could say anything. "You've said enough."  
  
He shook his head and walked out of the room.   
  
Kian glanced at her then, amusement still shining in his eyes. "He's very obvious," he volunteered conversationally.  
  
"'Obvious' is not the word," she responded. "Remy goes far beyond blatant." She hesitated a moment, then changed the subject. "She won't stake you, you know, but she's not going to be happy."  
  
He only looked more determined. "Then that's something I'm going to have to deal with."  
  
"You've got balls," Jessa admitted, impressed. "But I was referring to the fact that she's spent the entire morning in the cold trying to locate you, when you're right here. That's what she won't be happy about."  
  
Comprehension dawned on Kian's face. "Boston's a big city. Maybe she'll just be glad she's not been searching for days."  
  
Jessa grinned. "Let's hope so."  
  



	7. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 7

Kian wasn't home.  
  
After pounding on the door for what seemed like ages -- although it was probably closer to ten minutes -- she was reasonably certain he wasn't there and not simply ignoring her. His neighbors were home, however, and from the way the lady standing in her doorway was fingering her rolling pin, they weren't happy, either. Cameron met her glare with a weak smile, hurrying to the stairwell as fast as she could without actually running. She didn't look back, but she did flinch when she heard the door crash shut behind her.   
  
She slipped through the nicked and battered entrance, torn between the desire to steal into his apartment, waiting until he came home, and the desire to run far away into icy lands, where she knew he would not follow. She paused at the top step, hesitating, and then whirled to trace her way back. As she was about to take that first damning step, a strong hand gripped her arm from behind and she faltered. It was enough. The owner of that crushing hold dragged her back against his chest.   
  
She found herself being spun around.   
  
Fathomless violet eyes met hers, dark secrets twinkling in their depths like promises she knew he intended to keep. She sank into those promises with the speed of quicksand, sailing into their intimidating darkness. His mind beckoned to her coldly -- so coldly -- but she could not draw herself away.   
  
Just as she realized she was trapped, he blinked. She found herself standing back in the dingy hallway, crushed against his hard and unyielding chest. He smelled like something exotic, something she didn't and couldn't know how to identify.   
  
Her heart pounded wildly, whether from fear or anticipation she didn't know. He watched her quietly and she suddenly understood that she was naked under that unrelenting gaze. He smiled, then he bent, his lips grazing her forehead lightly. Barely more than a whisper. His hand lifted to stroke gently over her hair.  
  
"Did you miss me, Cameron?" he asked softly, taunting, just before his mouth descended on hers.   
  
Whatever she expected kissing him to be like, it wasn't this.  
  
His lips brushed across the corner of her mouth, as light as a breath and as gentle as a summer rain. She gasped at his touch, full of longing, begging him to stop the onslaught of emotions pouring over her. He took advantage of that gasp and deepened the kiss.   
  
His mind exploded around her.   
  
She saw him. Not really vision, but something more. Something primal and at the same time touching. She was open, exposed, but no more than was he. She reached out to touch him, the cool whisper of thought against thought.  
  
Darkness and jagged edges. And blue. His mind was a deep, dark, rich blue. Blue like the color of forget-me-knots dipped in shadows. Or the color of water sinking to unknown depths. She could see no end to the forbidding azure.  
  
She caught an overwhelming sense of disillusion filtering through the sweltering dark. Desperation tore at her and she searched for something, some memory or some hint of Kieran in this endless abyss. Something was cloaking him from her so she could not find him. Hiding to shut her out.  
  
And then his mind burst from the shadows like a god descending earth to consort with mortals. His presence was nearly overwhelming, powerful and stifling. ~Beautiful, isn't it?~ he questioned casually.   
  
~Sad~ she corrected solemnly. Her grief flowed like a river around them, deep and encompassing.   
  
He simply smiled. ~Some things cannot be changed. Sorrow is useless and only allows us to deepen our self-pity. Sad, maybe... but beautiful nonetheless.~  
  
His gaze traveled over the glittering peaks, pausing briefly on one or two. She narrowed her eyes and looked more closely. Was that a reflection? she wondered. But the images on the crystal like edges of his mind were moving; they were not. She focused, bringing it closer...   
  
And saw the pictures dwindle away in complete and total darkness.  
  
~Sometimes things are better left unseen~ he advised coldly. ~Be careful where you go or you might find yourself falling so far you can never climb out.~  
  
A threat. She shivered involuntarily, watching as the pinnacles took on a sinister cast. ~It's too dark to be beautiful~ she murmured.   
  
She felt his amusement like an oppressive wave of heat and resentment built up inside her. She wanted to see, to taste, to explore the vast cavern that was Kieran's mind. She wanted to know him.   
  
~The dark is beautiful. It hides what we don't want shared.~ Grim finality accompanied those words.   
  
She got angry. If he didn't want to let her in, fine. Fury built up inside her and she shoved, lashing out in frenzied hurt. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that he was trying to keep her away, maybe to make it easier on him when he killed her. The darkness receded so fast she thought she might get motion sickness. When it stopped, she realized their lips still touched, so gently, sealed in a bond more powerful than life itself.   
  
And, although she didn't want to admit it, a bond more powerful than death.   
  
Wrenching away, she pulled herself out of his arms and glared. "The dark is a cop-out," she snapped. "It keeps you safe and sheltered. Even from those things you need more than blood."  
  
He laughed, his humor lighting up his eyes in a way she never could. "The only thing I need more than blood, my dear little human, is your death. It accomplishes so many things with so little effort."  
  
Her mouth fell open, hurt, somewhat shocked, and so vulnerable. "What exactly does my death accomplish?" she asked softly, in voice of sugarcoated steel. Anyone who knew her well enough would have been able to tell him that this voice meant Cameron was at her most dangerous. But no one was there to tell him that.   
  
"One less human roaming the streets," he started obnoxiously. He ticked the reasons off on his fingers as he went. "I've yet again kept my vow. My brother again loses his soulmate..."  
  
She interrupted. "The fact that you lose yours as well never occurred to you?"  
  
His eyes went flat and cold. "That does not matter," he bit out. "I do not need you."  
  
She stared at him, an idea taking root and growing. "I don't think that's it at all," she declared, wondering. "I think it terrifies you."  
  
That mobile mouth tightened. "I think you're wrong. And I think you're going to find out just how wrong you are. Very soon."  
  
She laughed. "Bite me, Kieran," she muttered, not believing him at all.  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. "If you insist," he answered, a cruel smile playing across his features. He swooped, his mouth hovering over her neck for a split second. Then he bit.   
  
It felt almost like a bee sting, sharp and piercing. In less than a second, the pain was gone. In its place were the empty midnight blue of his mind and those stabbing, sparkling peaks. But this time she felt like he was keeping her outside of that barren sphere, drawing a line she could not cross. She could only stand at the edges, hoping to come closer and bask in its sultry heat.   
  
~You are not welcome there~ he informed her. And then, so quickly she almost didn't see it happen, a wall of ice constructed itself in front of her. Sparkling like diamonds, the frosty crystals shot toward the ceiling until she could see nothing. Even the exhaustive blue was hidden from her.   
  
Her anger flared again. ~You cannot keep me out~ she told him furiously. She set to chipping at the ice, breaking down the barrier in the only way she knew how. Miraculously, it worked.   
  
The wall shattered, shards of ice plunging to unknown depths. She found herself staring at one of the glittering peaks that held what she now knew to be memories and not reflections. The image unfolded before her, matching one she had not known was hers. But it was.  
  
In his arms, she lay dying. The resemblance was striking, but not complete. In whatever life this was, her hair was copper instead of raven and her nose was tilted slightly up. Her eyes were the same.   
  
Blood trickled down her face. Rivulets ran from twin punctures in her ashen neck and dripped into her hair, deepening the red. Her breathing was shallow, slow, and obviously an effort in futility. She did not have much more time to breathe before it would all be over.   
  
But her imminent death was not what shocked her the most. It was peripheral, unimportant. The man who held her in his arms was not. He was seated on a low stone wall, the kind she imagined lovers meeting on. She and Kieran had never been lovers, but somehow it seemed appropriate. His head hung low over her body and his mouth was covered in blood. Her blood.   
  
In any other circumstance, it might have made her angry. He'd killed her, probably for the thousandth time. Something held the anger in check. She couldn't quite figure out what it was, but the scene left her feeling hollow and somewhat pitying. Why pity? She searched her mind for any reason she might come up with, but none came. And then she realized.  
  
Kieran was crying.   
  
Not loud, heart-wrenching tears like you saw in the movies, but silent silver tears dripping down his face in spider web trails. His shoulders shook only slightly. The tears pooled at his chin before beading down and splashing on her face. His tears mixed with her blood, christening her in death.   
  
He looked up then, staring at the endless sky, full of bright and shining stars. The pain etched so clearly on his face darkened his violet eyes to infinite black pools. And in his eyes, she saw more regret than centuries of bloodshed could have wrought.   
  
She could hear the long ago Kieran's thoughts as clearly as an echo reverberating though a canyon.   
  
Dead so many times... Always my fault. Always but that once. Nothing to be done. I made a promise and those cannot be broken, especially to Kian. And so we both must suffer, traveling through life always to find her and always to lose her. Without her, we are not complete...  
  
His image sighed, swallowing his tears only to find them welling up again. His hand trailed lightly down her arm and his fingers twined with hers as she drew her last, whispering breath. It was over. He bent, touching his lips to hers. Not a kiss, but maybe a good-bye for this lifetime.   
  
Until we meet again, he thought. A faint smile curved his lips at that cliché. He stood, lifting her gently in his arms. The sadness in his eyes had not fled, but it had lessened. He...  
  
The memory splintered.   
  
~I thought I told you to stay out!~ Rage turned his mind red like fire and burning hot. She was thrown from the memory. His teeth clamped down on her neck and for one terrifying second, she thought he was going to drain her dry.   
  
Less than a heartbeat later, he tore his mouth from her throat. "You would do well to listen," he growled, shoving her away from him. She had to catch herself against the banister. "I don't react well to intrusions."  
  
"Obviously," she muttered. She brushed a lock of ebony hair out of her eyes, contemplating him. She felt slightly off balance and a little dizzy from the blood loss. She gripped the banister tighter in an effort to hide this weakness from him.   
  
He bared his teeth, which were still faintly stained with her blood. Coldly, he said, "Next time I won't be so benevolent."  
  
Her crystalline blue eyes narrowed. "You call that benevolent?" she asked, taking a step toward him. "I don't think you know the meaning of the word."  
  
He took a step back, afraid to get too close again. No one, not even Kian, had ever broken through his defenses so easily or so efficiently. "You don't know the first thing about me," he snapped.  
  
"I think I do," she answered softly. "I only have one question. Why haven't you kept your promise yet? Why am I still alive?"  
  
Sharp and stinging shocked coursed through him. It was the last question he expected. He composed himself quickly. "I thought your heart would take care of you," he shrugged. Emotionlessly, he added, "I was tired of watching you die."   
  
She stepped back, watching as a feral gleam lit up his violet eyes and his mouth curved up in a wicked smile. "Run," he suggested. "I'll give you until your next birthday to meet some unfortunate end. Then you're mine."  
  
Cameron believed him. Deep down in the core of her soul, she knew he would be true to his word. Kieran clearly wasn't the type to break his promises...  
  
She ran.   
  



	8. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 8

Deep, ragged breaths tore loudly through the still night air. Desperation or maybe fear hung suspended in each wild exhalation, pleading for comfort or some outside aid.   
  
Help me.  
  
But the night was cold and uncaring. The stars basked in their own burning splendor and did not heed the cries of mortals at their feet.   
  
This was a game they played, bathing the world in their icy silver light. Perhaps they pretended to care. Wishes flew like diamonds in the endless twilight and fell just short of reaching them. But sometimes, these suffering supplications found them and were answered. Whatever their true nature, whatever purpose they held, the humans believed in them.  
  
Tonight the stars were deaf.   
  
Help me.  
  
The plea clung like icicles on a jagged rock, clawing its way firmly into her brain. The night suddenly lost its beauty. Silent sobs, ones that could not be heard but only understood, dragged her deep into the vermin's mind.  
  
And the girl was vermin.   
  
Her cynical black eyes watched coldly from the shadows, hooded and hidden, as Kian's pathetic little soulmate flew out of his apartment building, wild-eyed and filled with fear. She knew the girl searched for some sort of escape.   
  
She also knew she would not find it.   
  
Her mouth twisted scornfully. Kieran should have killed the human bitch long ago, but he hadn't. She had the nagging suspicion that he was going soft on her. She didn't like the implications of that at all. And so...  
  
She'd just have to take care of it herself.   
  
Frankly, the thought of killing Cameron Aderyn made her insides go all warm and tingly. All these years, she'd sat and watched Kian pursue that helpless little nothing. For what?   
  
Not a damned thing. Her mouth curved in a chilling smile. She hadn't gotten anything out of it. Killing the little bitch might actually make her feel worthwhile once again. A person could only take so much before they snapped, after all. It was her turn to snap.   
  
But, if she could help it, the only thing that would really snap would be that little witch's neck.   
  
Snap, snap. She smiled. Maybe she could find a spell that would add a 'crackle, pop' to that as well. There was nothing like a good explosion to add some excitement to her life.   
  
Those hooded onyx eyes followed the girl's path down the street. Don't trip, she thought lazily. The big, bad wolf might get you.   
  
But not tonight. Tonight only Giacinta lurked in the woods with her big, sharp teeth. Not at all the kind that were good to eat little girls with. But draining them dry... Well, that was another matter all together.   
  
She tossed her raven hair back over her shoulders, breaking into a light run. The ground flew beneath her feet as she loped easily behind the human girl. Humans. Her lips skinned back against her teeth, a silent snarl sliding from her. The girl might have been lucky enough to be born a witch in this life, but one life as a Night Person didn't redeem centuries of being prey.   
  
Witch or not, the girl was worthless, especially to her.   
  
She followed her silently and steadily, slipping through the perfectly manicured lawns that reflected the humans' perfectly manicured lives. One footstep or one snag and both unraveled faster than a spider's delicate web. But, like that spider's web, it was far too easy to get caught and trapped.   
  
Trapped. A word she hated with more passion than she felt for Kian. He had trapped her, inexplicably and with no way to escape. He hadn't even tried, nor had he needed to. She was Kian's destiny. The whiny little witch was not.   
  
With a burst of speed, she shot far enough ahead that she was waiting for her when she turned the corner.   
  
The bitch didn't even glance at her. She darted out of the obscurity into the dim light washing over the street in a sheet of pale blue-white color. It cast haggard shadows over her delicate features and exaggerated the fear drawn over her face.   
  
Annoyance snaked through Giacinta in red-hot coils. She shifted slightly, sliding out her foot and placing it in Cameron's path. Let the bitch ignore her. She would find a way to get her attention.  
  
And as a way of getting attention, this worked.   
  
Cameron let out a shrill cry, her legs tangling and flying from beneath her. She saw the ground rush toward her face in a blur of hard concrete and dark shadows. For a moment the ground grew fangs, sharp and pointed like blade of a finely honed knife. She stifled another scream as the unforgiving ground bit into her palms. She caught herself just before her chin slammed into the sidewalk. Tomorrow she would have bruises.  
  
Wincing, she gingerly rolled over, trying desperately not to put pressure on her battered hands. Her elbow gave out, still stinging from the jarring fall, and she collapsed back on her good elbow, barely managing to prop herself up. Her vision cleared slowly, focusing on a woman who looked disturbingly familiar.  
  
Eyes and hair as enigmatic as the darkness around them. But it wasn't her coloring that caught her attention. Her gaze trailed over delicate features and a smirking mouth. Something about her was wrong. Wrong like fire burning a lake of freezing water or like ice melting in the middle of the coldest winter. And then she realized.   
  
She was staring into her own face.  
  
"I know you," she whispered. She drew herself up slowly, pulling her knees closer to her body. A moment passed before she found the energy to stand, but that moment was barely long enough to draw notice. She rose fluidly despite the pain.   
  
The woman smiled and Cameron's breath caught in her throat. It was the same smile a cat had after catching a mouse and tearing it into unrecognizable pieces. She suddenly understood she was that mouse.  
  
"Very good," Giacinta murmured. "The sooner you learn that, the better off you are. You've spent the last millennia as prey and as an analogy, a mouse isn't so far off the mark."   
  
Cameron slammed shields around her mind instinctively, as thick and effective as a steel vault. "Who are you?"  
  
Giacinta shook her head. "Wrong question. Who I am isn't as important as what I want." Those midnight eyes softened. "I want to help you."  
  
Every cell in Cameron's body screamed against that statement, shrieking that it was a lie, that this girl didn't want to help her. This girl wanted to see her dead. She knew that as surely as she knew Kieran would kill her. But... how did she know?   
  
She didn't have an answer to that question.   
  
She only had her intuition. As Jessa so liked to tell her, Cameron's intuition was almost more powerful and believable than seeing something with her own eyes. She had to trust it.   
  
The dark haired woman who so resembled her had continued talking, oblivious to Cameron's reservations. Her words caught and held Cameron's attention.  
  
"My name is Giacinta," she said. "Last names are irrelevant when you're nearly three hundred years old. A vampire, obviously, courtesy of Kian Redfern." She paused at Cameron's gasp, smiling and revealing sharp white teeth. "I believe you know him?"  
  
Cameron nodded her affirmation, but remained silent. Her stake was in her purse and her purse was at... Kian's apartment building. She cursed silently. Stupid. Without moving her eyes from Giacinta's, she tried to take stock of the objects around her.   
  
A lamppost. Nothing else surrounded her but a piece of crumbled paper and meters upon meters of concrete. Be resourceful, Cameron, she told herself. But first, she had to find something to be resourceful with.   
  
"Kian killed me," Giacinta continued softly and persuasively. Her endless onyx eyes glinted tragically and she glided toward her as though strings pulled her. "He killed me and then he abandoned me. No explanation and no apologies."  
  
Cameron watched a single tear slip down her cheek. Somehow she knew it was a fake tear, one being used as way to gain her sympathy. She had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry," she began lamely, not knowing what the woman wanted from her.  
Giacinta shrugged, sighing. "I just don't want him to do the same to you," she answered. "I want you to know what you're dealing with."  
  
"I don't think Kian intends to kill me."  
  
A bitter smile crept across Giacinta's pale face. "Neither did I," she countered. She pushed the raven fall of her hair out of her eyes. The movement caused light to shimmer on an intricate silver ring, catching Cameron's attention.  
  
Giacinta noticed. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she questioned. She held out a hand so Cameron could get a better look at it. The ring was fashioned from rubies and emeralds to form a disturbingly realistic rose, twining beautifully around her finger in an endless circle. "Kian gave it to me. The rubies signify blood, of course, but the green... the green stands for endurance. When you think about how red also stands for passion and red roses say, 'I love you,' it almost makes sense doesn't it?"  
  
Cameron stared at her. What exactly was she trying to say? That Kian loved her? That he'd promised her forever? The woman couldn't be so stupid as to lie to her about something like that.   
  
"He lied," Giacinta said flatly. She saw the look on Cameron's face and knew she was treading on dangerous ground. "That's the only thing I'm trying to tell you. I'm not going to tell you that he and I had a forever kind of thing, because we didn't. But he did lead me on. I paid dearly for falling for his lies."  
  
"What happened?" The question slipped from between her lips before she knew it was happening and in spite of her reservations.   
  
Again the bitter smile. "It isn't much of a story, really," Giacinta answered. "He made a few worthless proclamations of love and a few enticing promises of forever. He just never mentioned how lonely forever is when you're all alone."  
  
Cameron digested this in silence. Even though she knew the woman in front of her lied, she couldn't help but feel pity for her. She obviously loved -- or at least obsessed over -- the one who was Cameron's soulmate. Because of the soulmate bond, she would always lose. She assumed Giacinta knew that she and Kian were soulmates, but maybe not.  
  
She hesitated, wondering if enlightening her was really a good idea.   
  
As if she was reading her mind, although Cameron knew her shields were so tight not even the vampire could get past, she added, "Don't think he won't kill you just because you're his soulmate."  
  
"I think you have them mixed up," Cameron offered. "Maybe you were thinking about Kieran."  
  
Giacinta snorted. "I was most definitely not thinking of Kieran. I'm talking about your soulmate, sweetheart. There's a rather obvious distinction there."  
  
"Even for you?" Cameron countered.   
  
"Touché." She turned, staring into the infinite darkness with a pain Cameron could never understand. One she never wanted to understand. "I can tell them apart. Probably not as easily as you can, but I've known them for a long time and they each have their idiosyncrasies."   
  
Cameron nodded graciously, conceding. Onyx eyes met sapphire and an understanding passed between them. "Thank you for the warning."  
  
"Don't take it lightly," Giacinta responded. Her face was pleading. "I don't want to see someone else suffer because of him."  
  
Suspended, the statement hung in the air like a ghost that would come back to haunt her. Giacinta left it at that. She turned, gliding away, confident she had accomplished what she had come to do.   
  
Cameron watched her walk away, somewhat stunned. Did Giacinta really think she was that gullible?   
  
Apparently so.   
  
Shaking her head, she hurried back to her apartment, where she hopefully wouldn't run into anymore of these insane people tonight.  
  
  
  
Giacinta didn't really walk away. She started to, but when Cameron thought she disappeared into darkness, it was really just an illusion.   
  
Their little encounter had gone beautifully.   
  
She knew damned well that the witch hadn't believed or listened to a word she was saying. She'd heard the words, though, whether she'd wanted to or not. And by hearing them, she was trapped.  
  
Giacinta had planted a seed of doubt that would surface when the witch least expected it. And what Giacinta was about to do next, combined with that doubt, would hopefully set a chain of events into motion.   
  
A chain of events that would lead to Cameron's death.  
  
Blood didn't bother Giacinta. She had to drink it to survive, so of course she couldn't be sickened by it. That would be ridiculous. But killing Cameron with her own hands was something else entirely. Kian would never forgive her for that. Never.   
  
And it wasn't really her style. She preferred to be the manipulative type, getting what she wanted without actually doing any of the dirty work herself. This time especially. Instead she'd decided to leave it up to Kian and Cameron to take care of it.   
  
Cameron was almost out of sight now, moving slowly as though she mulled Giacinta's words over in her mind. Giacinta trailed quietly behind her, enjoying the knowledge that it would be at least another sixteen years before this scene could happen again.   
  
She paused, never taking her eyes of the witch's dark head. "Remember," she whispered, a malicious smile playing on her lips. She strode away, disappearing into the night.   
  
Where she had stood, only a dying, blood-red rose indicated that anyone had ever been there.   
  



	9. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 9

The hands of the mounted wall clock moved with the speed of a turtle. Kian couldn't help but stare at it in fascinated disinterest. Soon, Jessa had said. That had been six hours ago and he'd since come to the conclusion she had no concept of time.   
  
"Coffee?" Remy lisped coyly.  
  
His head snapped up. Remy stood in the doorway, one hand braced against his hip and the other holding a steaming mug.   
  
"It's Italian," he continued, ignoring the fact that Kian hadn't responded. "I don't keep that disgusting swill Americans call coffee in this house." He shuddered delicately.   
  
Kian wondered briefly how he pulled off the delicacy with such a large, imposing frame, then dismissed his curiosity when he realized Remy was still staring at him with a raised eyebrow.   
  
He shook himself. "No," he replied, "but thank you."  
  
Remy shrugged. "Suit yourself. Cameron lives off it. Her drug of choice and all."  
  
Kian tucked that snippet of information into the back of his mind for later use. "I don't know what could be taking this long," he offered conversationally, sighing. "I'm really not all that hard to find."  
  
Remy paused in the middle of taking a sip of coffee. "I believe Jessa sent her to Erin," he replied, lowering the mug. "She charges by the hour."  
  
"Lovely," Kian murmured, in a tone that didn't sound lovely at all.   
  
"She's very good at what she does," Remy reassured him. "In fact, she should have figured out that you're here by now and Cameron should be getting home..."   
  
A key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. "Now," he finished, as Cameron glided through the door. "Ma chère, it took you long enough."  
  
She was staring at Kian in surprise. "I forgot to bring something to burn," she admitted. "We tried something else and found your apartment instead. You weren't there."  
  
"No, I was here," Kian answered, looking amused. "A lot of effort for nothing, wasn't it?"  
  
"I wouldn't say nothing," she murmured distractedly. Memories of Kieran's kiss assailed her, threatening to overwhelm. Her eyes slid shut, but all she could see were those dark violet eyes burning darkly at her. She snapped them open again. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I couldn't let it end like that," he said. "And the threat of being staked seemed unimportant compared to seeing you."  
  
Remy rolled his eyes. "Cameron, the boy's in love with you and you threatened to kill him. Where are your manners?"  
  
"Drowning in the Atlantic next to yours," she replied sweetly. "Don't you have someone more pressing to harass?"  
  
"Not particularly," he shrugged, dropping down on the plush couch and slumping into the soft cushions. "Ruining your day was the only thing on my 'To Do' list."  
  
"How lucky for me," she muttered, crystalline eyes shooting warnings at him.   
  
She walked away from the doorway, finally coming to a stop in front of him. He blinked, alarmed, and when she sat sedately on the couch next to him, he picked up his coffee mug and stood up. The look in her sky eyes was one he preferred her to direct at someone else.   
  
"Actually," he said with a quick glance at his expensive silver watch, "I seem to remember promising Xanthe and Damalis a day at one of those trite human movies. It started about an hour ago, if I have the time right. I'm going to find them and see if we can catch the late one."  
  
"Have fun," she called as he disappeared down the hallway.  
His voice floated back like memories in the lazy summer heat. "You owe me."  
  
She bit her lip, trying not to send a biting retort in response. Kian levered himself out of the chair, stretching his cramped muscles. "Are you leaving?" she asked, surprised once again.  
  
He laughed. "No, I'm moving," he responded. "The couch looks much safer with you on it than it did when Remy was sitting there."  
  
He lowered himself to sprawl next to her, his long legs stretching as far as they could before the coffee table got in the way. He wore khakis again today, but these were a darker color and in the cargo pant style. Her eyes traced the lines of those khaki-covered legs silently, simply looking.   
  
"Why did you threaten to kill me?" he asked quietly.  
  
"I was scared," she admitted. "You look just like Kieran did and when you touched me..."  
  
He smiled gently. "Alarming, isn't it?"  
  
"Almost more so than being stalked by a pack of rabid 'wolves. Except that you can escape them. This..." she sighed. "It just stays."  
  
"It could be worse," he offered. "You could be stuck with someone like my brother. Although I think Fate may be too kind to do that to anyone with any semblance of humanity."  
  
Cameron glanced at him quickly, deciding now was not the time to inform him otherwise. "Fate does strange things to people."  
  
"Too true," he agreed. He hesitated, then took her hand in his, wrapping his warm fingers around hers and sending shivers darting down her spine. "Cameron, I won't let him hurt you this time."  
  
Those words were like ice washing over her. "I don't think you can stop him," she answered succinctly, pulling her hands away. She idly pushed a strand of pitch dark hair away from her face.   
  
"I can try," he said, reaching for both of her hands this time and pulling her to face him. His purple eyes glinted with all the emotion and fury of a winter storm, just as fierce, but protective instead of destructive.   
  
"You can," she affirmed. She smiled humorlessly. "I'm safe for now, though. I -- I saw him right before I came home. He's given me until my next birthday to die on my own."  
"How generous of him." Kian stroked one finger gently over her palm. "Maybe if I took you away, somewhere he wouldn't think to look... Maybe you would be safe then."  
  
She shook her head. "Kieran would find me. He made a promise that he's kept. Do you really think he'll break it now?"  
  
"No," he sighed. "But I can hope."  
  
And that was the thing. Neither of them could give up hope that something would work out this time. It was all either had.  
  
"We have months to figure out a way around it," she said. "We'll find a way."  
  
He nodded, disentangling one of his hands from hers and reaching up to trace the curve of her bottom lip. The motion was poignant, sensation burying itself deep into her heart and touching her already raw emotions. The brush of his thumb against her mouth sent shivers racing through her once again. She raised her hand and ran it through the silky strands of his burnished hair.   
  
He seemed to understand. His other hand disengaged from hers as well and he drew her forward to rest in the comforting cradle of his arms. ~You are safe~ he reassured her, tightening his hold just briefly.   
  
She sank into him, relaxing, allowing herself to trust for these few brief moments. In Kian's arms, she did feel safe. His broad chest was warm against her cheek and his stroking hands soothed her with startling ease.   
  
Sighing contentedly, she slid her gaze up to find him watching her, a protective light gleaming fiercely in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate slightly, then his mouth dipped down to meet hers. She welcomed this affirmation of what she'd found, this sealing of a promise neither had voiced, but both had agreed to. She tilted her head up, dark hair falling back over his arm in riotous waves.   
  
It was nothing like kissing Kieran.   
  
The gentleness was there, but instead of being overwhelmed, she was simply... joined. Where Kieran invaded, Kian became a part of her. They were two halves made whole, like the pieces of a puzzle laid to form a single picture. His mind was not shadows and jagged edges, but soft colors and smooth planes. Kian had his shadows, too, but they did not consume him.   
  
She sighed happily against his mouth, lost in the serene recesses of his mind. When one of those shadows grew, moving toward her like lightning, she was completely unprepared. It swallowed her in its darkness, eclipsing the quiet serenity she was floating in and ripping her away.  
  
Somehow, she and Kian became separated. She sailed into the dark void of his mind while he remained behind, oblivious to anything but the kiss. In these shadows, memory waited.   
  
It was raining.   
  
Torrents of drenching water plastered her clothes to her body. They chilled her in the cool night air and she shivered uncontrollably. She could find no escape from the beating drops. A hand grasped her arm roughly, dragging her through the sinking mire while she struggled to keep pace.   
  
The raindrops fell too thick to see through and the person who led her was only a darkened blur. The hand yanked her to the right, pulling her under the leafy canopy of a tree. She shook the water out of her eyes and pushed her hair off her face. Her vision cleared. Shocked, she stared at the face of the last person she expected to see in this memory.  
  
It was Kian. His face contorted with anger, complete with flushed cheeks and eyes burning with all the hate of a betrayed lover.   
  
Which, in a way, he was.  
  
"Why?" he growled, shaking her none too gently. Even through the disgust shining from his eyes, he looked... shattered. As though the pieces had scattered so far apart that they could never be found and repaired. Now those lavender eyes were pleading for a way out or for some excuse that would erase the incriminating evidence.   
  
She yanked herself out of his grasp. "Why what?" she gasped, tears springing to her eyes as blood flowed back into her arm. She had no choice in what she said or what she did; she could only follow the actions and feelings of her past self as this drama played itself out.  
  
He eyed her coldly. "Kieran." He spit the name out distastefully. "I'd have thought you would know better by now."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, her voice equally cold and as distant as a shooting star. She tossed her dripping hair back and met his eyes proudly.   
  
"Yes, you do," he accused. The self-assurance and certainty in his voice made her long to hurt him the way he was hurting her.   
  
She shook her head, sending drops of water flying in all directions. They fell like crystals on his rapidly drying skin. "If I knew, do you think I would be asking?"  
  
Those darkly lashed violet eyes narrowed. "I think you're playing a game you can't win." He reached out to grasp her upper arms, his fingers digging into her already tender flesh. "If you're trying to use him against me, it won't work."  
  
"Use him against you how?" she cried, trying not to flinch. The stinging pressure of his fingers was making her head cloud with pain. It hurt.   
  
"As if you don't know," he replied sullenly. He let her go, shoving slightly as he did.   
  
She stumbled, barely managing to catch herself before she fell in a graceless heap. "I don't!" she insisted. Tears threatened to fall at any moment.   
  
He rolled his eyes. Impatience lined every plane of his face. "Don't try to tell me you're not involved. Giacinta already told me everything."   
  
The tears spilled over. "I don't know what you're talking about!" she shrieked. Her fists clenched into tense white balls at her sides and her fingernails dug into her palms. The pain only made her angrier. "Who is Giacinta?"  
  
Short laughter exploded from his chest. It complemented the pouring rain, echoing its wildness and its untamed power. "You can't kill me, Camryn," he continued. She doubted he'd even heard her. "You are a part of me! Kieran is only using you to get at me," he finished. His expression was pained.  
  
Her eyes softened. She swayed toward him, full of compassion and understanding. "I don't know about any plot to kill you," she said achingly, "and I don't know anyone named Giacinta. Kian, I love you."  
  
"She told me you'd say that," he replied grimly. He turned away, pain radiating from every gesture and dripping from every word. He stared through the branches of the tree, where the rain beat against the leaves in careless abandon.   
  
Her expression tightened and her eyes narrowed, hurt by his statement. That he'd believe someone over her, his soulmate, when he could see into her soul... "If you need the truth that badly, then look. I can hide nothing from you. You said it yourself: I am a part of you. But, don't -- don't -- base your accusations on what someone I don't even know has told you."  
  
He smiled sadly. "She told me you'd say that, too. Don't you think I know there are spells that can hide things? That can make me see what I think I want?"  
  
"Not if you don't let them!" she snapped. "The soulmate bond is stronger than that! Haven't you figured it out by now?"  
  
He ignored her. "There's only one thing to do, Camryn." Another shout of short, bitter laughter. "It's almost ironic, considering that I've been trying to stop this for thousands of years, don't you think?"  
  
Terror coiled like an oiled snake in the pit of her stomach. "Kian, why won't you just listen for a minute! You know I didn't do anything! Listen to yourself!"  
  
"I can't hear myself anymore," he whispered sadly. "I've been broken too many times and the pieces... they just don't fit." He reached out, tracing the edge of her lower lips with so much gentleness she thought she would cry. The gesture was highly reminiscent of the kiss that had brought this memory to life.   
  
She opened her mouth to protest or to convince him otherwise, but then shut it abruptly. Kian was in no state to listen. Determined and terrified, she racked her brain to find some solution or some way to make him see. Her eyes brightened and she reached out, cupping his jaw gently in the cradle of her palm.  
  
It was the wrong thing to do.  
  
She had thought that once you had shattered so far, you couldn't be damaged further. She had thought that the dust of memories past would settle, so tiny and swept so quickly away. She hadn't expected the chasm in his eyes to widen and crack, revealing a void that was curiously empty.   
  
He slipped away from her hand slowly. His fingers tightened on her jaw, drawing her closer, and his lips moved to hover by her ear. She felt his warm breath skate over the skin of her neck. And then she heard the last thing she expected to hear.   
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered.   
  
One hand gently caressed the nape of her neck, tilting her head back with such sweetness that she didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late. The pale skin stretched before him. Not even a second passed, then he sank his teeth into her throat.   
  
She waited for the lightening and the warmth to envelop her, but it never came. Only darkness. She could feel blood being drawn from her body. He drank and drank and drank... And finally she felt herself slipping away to where she was one with the darkness instead of only encompassed by it.  
  
Another life...  
  
Then the darkness receded, leaving her to stare into Kian's worried violet eyes. No longer shattered, they still somehow seemed broken, as though a part he was not even aware of was missing. "Are you okay?" he asked, worry evident in his voice.  
  
She was breathing heavily and painfully, the air entering her lungs like fire.   
It took her a minute to catch her breath. "You bastard," she hissed, when she could finally bring herself to speak again.   
  
Shock painted itself over his face. "What?"   
  
She laughed, but wanted to cry. The tears would not come. "You don't even know, do you?" she asked. "You don't even remember what you did."  
  
"Cameron..."  
  
"Get out!" she snapped. "Get out and don't ever -- ever -- come back." She stood, turning her back on him and walking away.  
  
  



	10. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 10

Finding Kieran wasn't hard.   
  
His mind blazed as brightly as a shooting star in the midst of dull and grasping human thoughts, streaking through them like a virus with a five-minute incubation period. They stood no chance. One by one they dropped, insignificant and quickly forgotten.   
  
Kian understood that Kieran was angry. It really wasn't all that hard to figure out. That flaring purple aura leapt and burned, dancing to its own haunting song in its own amaranthine time, and colorless dreams drowned beneath its crush. He made no effort to hide his emotions and no effort to subdue them. The maelstrom lashed through the night with a violent violet crackle, its tail recoiling to strike with power drawn from his fury.   
  
His twin fed from the anger and Kian did, too. He did not stop to wonder where it sprang from, but instead welcomed its existence and followed it. Kieran's anger was hot and vibrant, trailing fire through the air and leaving stark etchings on his mind. They scorched a path in front of him, linking the twins as though they were indeed one.   
  
But where Kieran's anger seared charred trails and left ashes of destruction in its wake, Kian's anger cut as clean and sharp as a blade of ice. His frosty touch kissed gently and, without warning, glacial needles threaded their way like creeping fingers where his gaze brushed. Layers of frost so thick they seemed endless wrapped around him, anger boiling through his blood like a raging arctic river. Cold calmness settled over him to blanket and to trap his emotions. They simmered dangerously below the calm and threatened to erupt.   
  
Outwardly, he was calm.   
  
Inside, he was dying.  
  
He found himself standing in front of his apartment building with no memory of walking, running, or even moving. He was simply there, staring carefully into the darkened windows as if they unlocked the secret to those burning trails. What had drawn him here, cold and abandoned and unforgiven?   
  
The answer, of course, was simple. Kieran was here. Pain crawled trapped below both their surfaces, beneath a smokescreen of fire for his twin and beneath a sheet of ice for himself. Whatever his twin had done, whatever battles the two fought, when they were together, the pain would always lessen.  
  
His own long ago words filtered into his brain. "We are the same. Don't you see? We are the same, Kyaren. Always we will be together. We are One."  
  
And despite everything, they were indeed One.   
  
Kian's jaw clenched, bitterness pulsing through his veins. Best not to think of that now. Best not to think of anything but the anger gurgling quietly and deceptively just below the surface.   
  
He shook the hazy emotions out of his head, stepping purposefully onto the small, dingy porch. White pillars soared to meet the sagging roof, their straight backs stiff and proud despite the woefully chipped paint. He didn't spare them a glance, knowing that the air current from looking may very well cause them to fall on his tousled burgundy head.  
  
Carefully, he opened the battered door. It creaked on its hinges, making a noise similar to that of a dying cat. The squeal hurt his ears, but fortunately, this time the handle had stayed attached.   
  
Taking them two at a time, he mounted the stairs quickly. Through the door. Down the hallway. Every step he took augmented the feeling of dread inside him. He stopped in front of his own door, somehow knowing that something was off. The mahogany entrance swung open. In front of him, the apartment waited silently.   
  
He relaxed, almost disappointed. Kieran wasn't here.  
  
Stalking lightly inside, he dropped his keys on an antique coffee table and fumbled for the light. The wall stayed suspiciously flat. Oh, come on, Kian, he thought, annoyed, it's not like the thing moves around at will. His fingers brushed the switch and light flooded into the room, showing him just how wrong he'd been.  
  
Kieran sat comfortably in the middle of his living room, almost as if he were waiting for him. A glass rested in his hand and his feet were propped on Kian's antique coffee table. He turned when light illuminated the room and Kian tensed.   
  
His twin met his eyes directly, raising his crystal goblet in a mocking toast. Thick red liquid sloshed dangerously close to the edge. "Nice place," he said casually.   
  
Kian's icy shell shattered. He was across the room before Kieran could blink. Gripping his brother's tailored shirt, he picked him up and threw him toward the wall. The chalice in Kieran's hand flew across the room with him, blood spilling on the floor and splattering over the furniture. Kian followed close behind. "What did you do?" he growled, slamming Kieran's head against the wall.   
  
Kian looked vaguely shocked and more than a little angry. "I haven't done anything," he replied, trying to shake Kian off, "unless my name has been added to America's Most Wanted list and leaving the country is now a federal offense."  
  
They stared silently at each other for several seconds, then Kian's shoulders slumped and his grip loosened. "What are you talking about?" he asked, suddenly tired.   
  
Glaring from beneath thick lashes so dark they glistened like hematite, Kieran pulled away and brushed himself off almost fastidiously. "You asked me what I am doing," he explained slowly, pronouncing each word carefully and clearly. Kian knew that mocking tone well. "I am leaving the country. You of all people should have no problems with that."  
  
Identical violet eyes locked with his. "Why?"  
  
Kieran shrugged, easing away and dropping back down on the sofa. He avoided the mess the blood made on the floor. "Do I need a reason?"  
  
"Need one? No," Kian replied. "Having one might help."  
  
Kieran laughed. His eyes lit delightedly and his mouth curved. "I've never claimed to be helpful. But, if you must know, I've missed the taste of Irish cream. It's so thick and rich and--"  
  
"And not the real reason you're leaving," Kian supplied, sitting next to his brother. He sank into the soft cushions of the couch. His eyes slid shut. "You don't have to lie about it. We both know it won't change anything."  
  
Amused, Kieran watched his twin relax against the cushions. "I'm glad to know it, brother. It would be a shame for me to ruin centuries of feuding with something so inane."  
  
Without opening his eyes, Kian responded, "You don't feud, Kieran. You destroy. I've known nuclear warheads to do less damage than you."  
  
"I aim to please."   
  
"You aim to wreak havoc," his twin corrected, "and you do a wonderful job. Perhaps I should send a thank you note. No, not a note... Maybe I should make you cookies."  
  
"So you can lace them with arsenic?" Kieran shot back.  
  
Kian opened his eyes. "I think not. Arsenic would have the same effect as trying to plug a leak with a toothpick."  
  
"Now there's a thought," Kieran muttered. "It depends on where you're plugging that leak."  
  
A devilish smile flitted over Kian's face. "Don't give me any ideas," he warned.   
  
"Wouldn't think of it," Kieran replied cheerfully. "I might have the misfortune of seeing them carried out."  
  
Kian raised an eyebrow, drumming his fingers idly against the side of the blue chintz sofa. "It's not me you have to worry about," he countered softly. His mouth twisted. "Cameron's grown claws."  
  
"Cameron has always had claws," Kieran corrected. "She just kept them sheathed around you. I never got that lucky."  
  
He sent his twin a cynical glance from the corner of his eye. "You don't think that would have anything to do with the fact that you were murdering her at the time, do you?"  
  
Kieran paused, blinking in mock thoughtfulness. "You know, I often wondered about that. I think you might be right."  
  
Kian rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked.  
  
"Admiring your furniture," Kieran replied dryly. "How upset would you be if I were to take back Mother's coffee table?"  
  
"Devastated," he said glibly. "Uncle Jareth was staked on that table. It has sentimental value, you know."  
  
Kieran smirked, one side of his mobile mouth curling beautifully. "The only intelligent thing he ever did was to get himself killed, although Mother was quite worried that he'd ruined the finish." He ran a hand lovingly over the solid oak, pausing over a curiously deep hollow in the middle.   
  
"Kieran," Kian said, exasperated, "what do you want?"  
  
His twin shrugged. "Nothing. I just thought I'd stop by before leaving the country and let you know that I still intend to ruin the decade for you. I'm just taking my time about it."  
  
Staring in disbelief, Kian leaned away and raised an eyebrow. "The day you stop making my life miserable is the day I'll have you committed." He shook his head and looked away briefly. "You didn't have to visit to tell me that. I already knew."  
  
"I know," Kieran admitted, "but I thought I'd give you the opportunity to try to stop me. It only seemed fair."  
  
The breath stopped in Kian's throat, his eyes flaring hotly. "Fair? Is it fair that you take away my soulmate in every life? Is it fair that she's only lived one life past the age of sixteen? Don't try to be 'fair' with me. It's too late for that."  
  
"I never said--" his twin started, only to be cut off.  
  
"And what did you do?" Kian snapped, repeating his earlier question. "If you're not going to kill her until her next birthday, don't interfere. After taking away thousands of years we could have spent together, you owe me these months."  
  
It was Kieran's turn to look tired. "I don't owe you anything," he stated. Reluctantly, he added to himself, Except maybe an explanation. But despite his self-confession, his expression was cold. "And while I thoroughly enjoy your accusations, I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
Gritting his teeth, Kian fought the urge to strangle his twin. "You did something," he answered flatly.  
  
"Are you so sure about that?" Kieran asked, amused. "What exactly makes whatever happened my fault?"  
  
Kian paused, considering, wondering what had made him so sure his twin was at the bottom of this. Finally, he answered, "I saw things."  
  
Kieran looked at him sharply. "What kind of things?"  
  
Shrugging uneasily, his response was sulky. "Just... things. Glimpses of you and of her."  
  
"Oh, really?" Kieran asked softly. His voice was silken, dangerous, slipping through the air like mist. "When are these images from? What happened?"  
  
Kian glared. "From the last time she died." He didn't need to say who "she" referred to. It hadn't been necessary through any of the conversation. They both knew. "You killed her."  
  
"You say that like it's something different," Kieran responded, brushing the accusation aside.   
  
"It wasn't like the other times," Kian snapped. His cheeks flushed with anger. "She died in pain."  
  
Kieran sighed, sitting up straight. "Losing blood is never a pleasant experience. Getting bitten... Well, that all depends on where you bite. What did you think? That drinking someone's blood makes them want to jump up and say, 'Let's do it again?'"  
  
"Don't change the subject." Kian's mouth tightened. "I want it to stop, Kieran."  
  
"Wish for it all you like," Kieran replied, "but it's not going to end until one of us is dead." His mouth curled dangerously and he glanced briefly to meet his twin's gaze. "That rather leaves you at a disadvantage, doesn't it?"  
  
Emotion washed over Kian's face, hot and fierce, like a tidal wave crashing over a sandy beach. "I'm already at a disadvantage," he returned. "Thanks to you and your games, I'm never to come near her again."  
  
Kieran's eyes widened fractionally and he sat back again. "What happened?" he questioned.   
  
Staring at the wall moodily, Kian responded, "She remembered something. I only caught shards of the memory, but I know it wasn't pleasant."  
  
His twin remained silent, waiting for him to continue.   
  
"I think it happened around twenty years ago--"  
  
"Twenty-one," Kieran interrupted, "but I guess that doesn't matter."  
  
Kian shot him a bewildered look. "I don't suppose you know the month and the day as well, do you? What about the hour?" He shook his head. "She wasn't expecting it, that much I caught with very few problems. She trusted you, Kieran, and you destroyed her."  
  
"March 28, 1980," Kieran replied coldly, ignoring the last comment. "Midnight. I was in Las Vegas. She was near Vancouver."  
  
Blood rushed to Kian's face. "That's impossible. You killed her."  
  
"Did I?" Kieran countered softly. "It would make things simpler, wouldn't it? You always have been the type that likes things cut and dry."  
  
Kian's response was calm. "I like my soulmate alive, too, but clearly things don't always happen the way we want."  
  
Kieran looked at him, his violet eyes piercing through his skin and pulling his thoughts apart until they were laid bare before him. "No, things don't always happen the way we want," he agreed. Quietly, he continued, "I didn't kill your soulmate, but I know who did."  
  
Eyes flashing like lightening in a velvet sky, Kian demanded, "Who?"  
  
Kieran smiled tightly. "That," he stated icily, "is no secret. If you think about it long enough, you'll know who it was, too. If not, then it's none of your damned business."  
  
"Would it be that difficult to just tell me?" Kian wondered angrily.  
  
Contemplating him quietly, Kieran gnawed idly on his lower lip and traced a thoughtless pattern on the arm of the sofa. "Yes, it would. Figure it out yourself." He paused. "Where were you that night?"  
  
No matter how hard he tried, Kian couldn't remember.  
  



	11. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 11

It was one of those days that should have been cloudy, the sun covered in misty blankets and the sky bleached a depressing gray. Instead the sun's burning rays fell gently and kissed everything they touched with a glowing halo. It was a day that made you think of lazy afternoons spent lazing in the heat or of chasing butterflies through flower-drenched fields.  
  
The raging wind was completely at odds with the streaming sunlight.   
  
Reflecting her fury, it whipped her hair violently into her eyes and snatched at her cheeks. Every beat of her heart sent another blast of wind crashing through the streets. Cold and unforgiving, it beat away her last pretense of concern and robbed her of all caution.  
  
She stood in front of Starbucks and watched the coldly careless boy who dared ignore the wind's wrath. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, willing him to look up at her, but he remained oblivious to her silent urging.  
  
She'd just have to get his attention another way.   
  
Striding toward him purposefully, she relied on her anger to give her courage. Kieran frightened her more than death.  
  
She slammed her hands down on the table where he sat, idly fingering what looked like plane tickets. He looked up, startled violet eyes finally meeting hers. "I've stopped running," she said flatly. "Consider this a warning, Kieran Redfern, for you have just played your last game. You are the hunted now."  
  
Throwing a couple of dollars carelessly on the table and not bothering to stop them as they blew away, he rose. He grasped her arm and dragged her away from the café. "What are you doing?" he hissed as he threw a cautious glance over his shoulder.   
  
She tried futilely to yank her arm out of his grasp. "I stopped by for tea," she replied scathingly. "A little honey, no milk, and please hold the blood."  
  
He stopped then, so suddenly she bit her lower lip and tasted coppery liquid on her tongue. She kept that bit of information to herself. As he swung her around to face him, she saw the storm trapped in his piercing eyes. The dark clouds that should have been in the heavens tumbled through violet skies and lightning radiated from the endless black of his pupils.   
  
It took her a moment to realize he'd been speaking. "What?"  
  
He repeated his question, cheeks flushed with anger and pupils nearly swallowing the tempest in his eyes. "Are you crazy?" he demanded.   
  
"Not since my last evaluation," she snapped, "but I'm sure that could be a fluke."  
  
"Clearly a blatant error on their part," he agreed icily. He resumed walking and his iron grip never left her arm. She stumbled behind him with no choice but to follow. "Do you normally make a habit of antagonizing people who intend to kill you?"  
  
"Psychopaths and homicidal maniacs aren't generally included in my circle of friends. That tends to limit contact." Her foot caught on the curb and she lost her balance, reaching for him instinctively. An arm slipped around his neck and brought their faces only inches apart.  
  
He bestowed her with a wry look, but gripped her under the elbow and righted her. Being this close to her was having an odd effect on him. Once she was again standing, he continued away from the café.   
  
"Where are you going?" she asked. He didn't answer her and, annoyed, she followed him of her own volition this time. "I tell you I've stopped running and you just ignore me? Isn't that supposed to elicit some reaction?"  
  
"No." He didn't look at her, nor did he slow his pace. "Although it does look rather like you're running now, my dear soulmate."  
  
She flushed. "You know what I meant." But angrily, she realized he was right.   
  
Nodding briefly, he acknowledged that he did. "Tell me why," he requested. "I'm curious as to what prompted your newfound courage. After all, you do play the victim rather well."  
  
"Kian killed me." Each word said succinctly, anger dripping from every one.   
  
Kieran had the grace to look startled. "You're mixing us up, Cameron. I'd have thought better of you."  
  
She was the one to stop this time, one hand violently tugging at his sleeve and halting him as well. He saw the certainty buried in her aquamarine eyes. "You and Kian are as easy to mix as oil and water. I know who I saw, and it wasn't you."  
  
"When?" Only one word, but Cameron knew it meant she had won. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about any longer.   
  
"My last lifetime," she answered triumphantly.   
  
He glanced away, staring into the distance, and she suddenly realized they'd walked to the park. It was empty this time of day. The children were at school and the adults were at work. It gave her a wonderful feeling of privacy, as though she could tell or accuse him of anything and no one else would know.  
  
"You're right," he admitted finally. "I didn't have anything to do with your death twenty-one years ago."  
  
Her eyes flashed brilliantly, like a current of electricity jumping from one wire to another. "You lied to me," she accused. "You and Kian and Giacinta all lied."  
  
He sighed, debating the wisdom of letting her know what truly happened. "He didn't lie to you. He doesn't remember killing you."  
  
"How convenient." Sarcasm dripped like poison from her voice.   
  
Kieran's eyes blazed. "Listen, you little witch, he doesn't remember because I made sure he didn't."   
  
Stunned, she dropped onto a scarred wooden bench. "Why would you do that?" she asked. She lifted her gaze to meet his, confusion shining in their depths.   
  
The fire in his eyes died and he sat next to her. "Because he loves you and because it wasn't entirely his fault. And... it was kinder. You've seen the ring Giacinta wears?" It wasn't a question. He knew she'd seen it. "Kian didn't give it to her. I'm sure she told you that."  
  
"She did," Cameron admitted, surprised. "But... If the ring didn't come from Kian, what --"  
  
"It's a charm," he interrupted. "Or at least it was. I'm reasonably certain the spell no longer works." He paused a moment, considering. "No, it couldn't possibly work anymore. Your death ended the spell."  
  
She paused. "What spell?"  
  
"The one Giacinta put on the ring," he answered, as if it was obvious. "The second Kian touched it, he was lost." At her silent prompting, he continued, "It bound her to him and connected them. Not nearly the same as the connection we have, but it was enough to make him believe anything she told him."  
  
Glaring, she said, "The soulmate connection should have made him see through that." She tossed her dark hair back and waited defiantly.  
  
He reached out, a strand of that hair slipping through his fingers like a drop of rain running down a windowpane. "He didn't touch you. How would he have known?"  
  
"How do you know that?" she countered, wondering. "You weren't in the memory. You weren't there."  
  
"I just do," he responded with an infuriating shrug of his broad shoulders. "And I know that when he drained you, he shut himself off. He couldn't feel you and you couldn't feel him."  
  
"How--" she repeated, letting the question trail away in the frigid, calm air.   
  
He hesitated a moment in answering. "For the last twenty-one years, Kian was dying in the bottom of a sewer. He didn't know why he was there or why he felt the need to lock himself away from everything, but he did. It was the only way he could deal with knowing -- albeit unconsciously -- what he'd done."  
  
"But I thought you wiped his memory."  
  
He nodded. "I did. But even thinking I had killed you, he was riddled with guilt. During that second before your soul left your body, the spell broke and he realized what he'd done. Not even my influence could take that away. Your draw is too strong."   
  
"Well, at least I'm good for something," she muttered. "Even if I have to die to accomplish anything."  
  
His face softened and his fingers twined with hers. "You're good for more than that," he said softly, brushing the pad of his thumb gently over her cheek. His mind burned with all the intensity of a forest fire against hers.   
  
She pulled away. Kieran angry was dangerous, but this was something else entirely. Her thoughts flew back to the kiss they'd shared in Kian's apartment building. Soft and wild and heart wrenching, but above all else, dangerous. It had been a kiss that called to the depths of her soul. Pleading for forgiveness and promising forever.  
  
But more likely ending with a severe lack of blood.  
  
"Don't touch me," she warned.   
  
"Or what? You'll cut off my hand and throw it in the bushes? Would you like me to provide you with a knife?" He disentangled one wrist, holding it in front of her, while fishing around in his pocket with the other.   
  
She knocked his hand away. "Stop it," she commanded. She glanced away from him, sadness and fear choking her. That it would come to this hurt her more than anything physical possibly could. Despite everything, she didn't want to injure him, didn't want to spend her life looking over her shoulder, wondering when he would come after her or who would die first. Sad because she knew this time she would kill him if he threatened her life with more than words.   
  
"Consider this a warning, Kieran." She repeated her earlier words softly and met his eyes squarely. "I will not let you hurt me."  
  
A spark of laughter flared in those violet depths. "You're too late to stop me." The corner of his mouth curled. "Don't you think you're hurting now?"  
  
One gasping sob, escaping before she could stop it. "I hurt every day of my life."   
  
"You'll hurt more if you cross me," he promised. All the warmth had disappeared from him, the traces of it as faint as a dying whisper. There was no emotion left. "You know, this is the second time I've been attacked today -- verbally or physically. It's getting somewhat redundant, and this conversation seems to be over. Unless you have something new and interesting to say, go away." That probing lavender gaze dropped for a split second and when he brought his eyes back up to meet hers, anger shone in their depths. "I've discovered some intriguing methods of Indian torture. I'm sure you don't want me to try them on you."  
  
Stunned and trying not to show it, it still took her a moment to regain her composure. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered. They both knew it was a lie. "I will fight you and I will win."  
  
The startling anger on his face faded to amusement once again and his fingers wrapped around her wrist, sending sparks shooting through her body. "Keeping telling yourself that. You don't have the track record to back it up."  
  
"I never had a chance before," she snarled, wrenching her wrist out of his iron grasp.   
  
He rose from the bench, backing away from her, his arms dropping to his sides and his palms facing out. She suspected -- no, she knew -- his defenseless posture was deceptive. He could hurt her in so many more ways than physically. "You have that chance now," he answered softly. "So take it."  
  
Fury flared inside her for the second time that hour. The wind had died and her anger had calmed, but now both came back in full force. He did not flinch at the wind's stinging bite. Cameron felt at one with it, raging and fierce and yet helpless. Both flung the full extent of their anger and still he stood there, mocking and careless.   
  
She stood, too, reaching out and snapping the end of a branch with strength she didn't know she had. Her eyes had gone pale as ice, belying her gentle nature. Belying her painful history.   
  
The wind pushed her toward him like an unseen hand guiding her toward Death. Her gaze never left his, but despite their steadiness, her hand trembled.   
  
He smiled as she came near, that gorgeous mouth softening and curving sensually. "Do I at least get a kiss to remember you by, mon coeur?"   
  
And with that one question, Cameron knew she was doomed.   
  
***  
  
"You can't kill me, Cameron." A faint softening of those disturbingly depthless eyes. "I am a part of you."  
  
"You seem to have managed well enough," she answered calmly, steeling herself against the thoughts running through her head. Don't do it, don't lose him, convince him that there's a chance... She ignored the words of advice her head kept throwing at her.   
  
He shrugged, one broad and muscular shoulder lifting carelessly. "Don't let that fool you. Constant death does strange things to a person's mind. Point in case: I'm standing here waiting for you to stake me. Now where do you think that falls on the normality scale?"  
  
"Somewhere between 'psychopathic' and 'schizophrenic,'" she returned sweetly. "Any more questions?"  
  
Raising an eyebrow, he reminded her, "You've not answered my first, my darling witch. Even condemned murderers get a last request."  
  
"They also die by electrocution, not dehydration," she answered, her voice still sweet and so reasonable that he wondered if perhaps she wasn't just a little bit insane as well.   
  
He laughed. "Dehydration? Is that what you're calling it these days?"   
  
Her eyes narrowed until they were only thin blue slices of sky. "Can you think of something better?"   
  
"Not particularly," he admitted. "My ancestors did exhibit a certain lack of fluids when they were staked."  
  
Don't think about his voice or the way his eyes shine like amethysts or how it feels to touch him. Don't think about how lost you will be without him or about the void not even Kian can fill.   
  
And then it hit her. She was killing him in cold blood.   
  
"Don't lose your courage now," he taunted. He saw the stricken expression flashing over her face and knew what she was thinking without even trying. "I've killed you thousands of times. You've got a lot of catching up to do."  
  
But she wouldn't catch up. She couldn't. She would kill him and he would be gone. Gone forever, like a flower wilting and dying alone in a blistering desert. And with him would disappear part of her soul.   
  
"I can't --"  
  
"Shhh," he soothed her, only inches away but still immobile. "Don't think. Just act. It takes away the pain, at least until it's over."  
  
The branch fell from her hand. He knelt, picking it up and offering it to her. A gift. The only gift that Kieran could ever give her, for he had no choice but to destroy her. And so he would let her destroy him first.  
  
A gift, one she had no choice but to accept.   
  
"Take it," he encouraged, and yet she knew he didn't want to die any more than she wanted to kill him. Selfless and self-sacrificing.  
  
Tears welled in her eyes and her own horror at what she was about to do erupted. "Why can't you fight me, damn you?!" she cried as her fingers wrapped around the branch involuntarily. "Why do you have to make this harder?"  
  
He pulled back, eyes wide. "I rather thought I was making it easier," he protested.   
  
She shook her head mutely and clutched the makeshift stake tighter in her hand. "I can't kill you if you're not fighting me or hurting me," she whispered and her voice broke. "I have tried so hard, but I can't."   
  
Kieran brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone, both filled with a pain that neither could understand and neither could forget. Her skin was silky soft beneath his fingers, but when he dropped his hand, it came away damp. Those tears had spilled over and slid down her face in glistening crystal rivulets.   
  
And then he knew that despite everything, he could never kill her again.   
  



	12. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 12

"I thought you were leaving," Giacinta said casually from her place by the window. She didn't look at him, but continued to keep a watchful eye on Morgan as she played with an adorable human boy. The child was quite skilled at finding her own dinners anymore.  
  
"I am." Kieran didn't look at her, either, instead gathering various items from around the room. "I leave for Ireland tomorrow and I'm not coming back."  
  
Surprise made her face him, her full mouth falling open. "But I thought you said--"  
  
He shrugged. "I changed my mind," he replied. He finally looked up at her and she saw the determination and hurt written on his face.   
  
"What happened?" she asked, concerned. One black eyebrow arched questioningly. She didn't know it, but somehow her expression became condescending instead of caring.   
  
A corner of his mouth twisted. "Nothing."   
  
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She glanced out the window briefly to check on Morgan, to give herself some time to figure out what was really going on, but the children had disappeared. "Something happened. And what do you mean you're not coming back? You have to."  
  
"No, I don't," he retorted, "and I'm not going to." He glared at her from beneath heavy lashes that hid the touch of desperation in his eyes. He was not as successful at keeping it out of his voice.  
  
Her lips pursed, she asked the question that had been bothering her for the last several weeks. "Why aren't you killing Kian's soulmate?"   
  
He knew the question shouldn't have startled him, but it did. "Why should I?" he countered.   
  
"Because you always do," she replied disbelievingly. "Why would you stop now?"   
  
He hesitated a moment, his lips barely moving to form words she didn't understand. Then he sighed. "It's gotten boring."  
  
Her black eyes were sharp, burning like coals and snapping with sudden insight. "You're never bored, Kieran Redfern. What are you not telling me? What is this human girl to you?"  
  
"Nothing," he answered just a little too quickly to be believable. He met her eyes and regarded her blankly, keeping all traces of emotion from his face.   
  
It didn't work. She smirked, one corner of her mouth curving gleefully. "Why, Kieran, you're in love with her, aren't you?"  
  
His eyes went flat and cold. "No," he said shortly. "I'm not."  
  
She laughed delightedly. "You are! That's why you're not going to kill her!" She laughed again and her eyes sparkled. "I'm sure Kian would love to hear this."  
  
"I'm sure he would, too," he stated slowly. "But if you tell him, those will be the last words you ever speak."   
  
Her grin faded. "Don't threaten, Kieran. Didn't your mother ever tell you it isn't nice?" She paused, waiting just a split second to let those words sink in, then she continued, "Don't make me take away your toys, my love."  
  
He shot her a moody look from eyes the color of blood-drenched sapphires. Catching the light, they seemed neither blue nor red, but that startling color in between, vivid and sharp. "I'm not your love," he said viciously. "And if I were, you wouldn't know what to do with me."  
  
"Wooden nails and a sledgehammer would do nicely, I think," she responded, her voice tranquil and undisturbed. She smiled angelically.   
  
"And if you were my soulmate, I'm sure I'd agree with you on that one." He returned her smile easily, but his expression was cruel. "In fact, I'd probably suggest it myself."   
  
She stood abruptly. "Kian told me centuries ago that I wouldn't bother wasting my time on him if I found my soulmate. Perhaps I should offer the same advice to you. Stop wasting your time, Kieran. Kill the bitch and spend the next few years looking for your soulmate, not his."  
  
"Ah, but if I found mine, why would I bother to kill his?" he countered. He lounged back against the table and folded his arms across his chest. He already knew the answer.   
  
"Consider it a personal favor," she answered sweetly. She tossed her dark hair back over her shoulder and smiled at him. "You always were the nice twin."  
  
He laughed so hard the table shook. "Flattery will get you nowhere, especially with me." He sobered, the laughter dropping from his eyes as quickly as a pebble off the Empire State Building. "I don't do favors."  
  
"You do for me, Kieran dear," she murmured, gliding towards him until she was almost leaning against him. A red-tipped nail rasped against his shirt and toyed with one of the buttons. "And in return, I'll help you look for her."  
  
His voice was almost taunting as he replied, "I've already found her." He laughed at the fury written on her face.   
  
Winding her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, she maneuvered his face until it was inches from hers. He let her do it, not bothering to fight or move away. "Who is she?" she demanded, infuriated that he hadn't told her before.   
  
He shrugged, easily disengaging himself. "It amazes me sometimes how remarkably dense you are, Giacinta." One corner of his mouth quirked. "Haven't you figured it out by now?"  
  
She stared at him, searching his chiseled face for some clue. He stared back at her impassively, the mid-afternoon sun glistening like teardrops on those heavy lashes and illuminating the planes of his face. "Who is she?" she repeated.   
  
"You don't really think I'm going to tell you, do you?" he answered. "It's not any of your business. And I don't exactly relish the idea of giving you something to hold over me."  
  
Sadness washed over her features. "You really don't think much of me, do you?" she asked quietly. She stepped back, turning away and walking to the window, where she stared into the yard. Morgan and the human had reappeared. The human child was playing much more docilely than before. She would even venture to say that his movements were sluggish. When Morgan learned a lesson, she learned it well.  
  
He sighed, striding across the room to join her. "Just accept it, Giacinta. Let the girl live this life in peace and let her be happy with Kian. They deserve it." He stopped then, wondering if he'd really just said that. Let his brother live in peace? With his soulmate?   
  
He must be crazy.  
  
"So what do you do now?" she asked moodily. She glanced at him. "Go back to Ireland and live happily ever after with your soulmate?"  
  
He shook his head negatively, almost wishing she knew how wrong she was. Kieran didn't believe in happily ever after. He had no reason to. Abruptly, he turned away. "There is no such thing," he told her seriously. "Maybe for some people, but not for me." A wry grin. "Never for me."  
  
"Doesn't your soulmate like you, Kieran?" she questioned coyly. She swiveled to face him, her gamin face alight with curiosity.   
  
The violet lights in his eyes twinkled sardonically. "No more than she'd like jumping from a plane without a parachute."  
  
Giacinta was startled at his candor. "Why? What did you do?"   
  
"This and that," he answered evasively. "Twisted a few knives, sucked a little blood... All in all, nothing that unusual."  
  
"Is she human?" she asked sharply. She watched him for a reaction, hopeless and hopeful all at the same time. Hopeful because Kieran deserved a human soulmate, just to teach him a lesson. Hopeless because he probably wouldn't get what he deserved. Ironically, it was because she cared about him that she hoped the girl was human.  
  
His upper lip curled. "No, she's not." A scornful sweep of those intense and somewhat tragic eyes. "She'd be long dead were that the case."  
  
Giacinta lifted one sculpted eyebrow. "You'd kill your soulmate? How... sweet... of you, Kieran." She stared at him while he met her eyes impassively, as chilling as she had ever seen him. Something clicked in her mind just then and she had to suppress a gasp. What if... Her sparkling black eyes were suddenly calculating.   
  
"I wish you luck, mon cher." She turned abruptly, fingers thoughtfully smoothing the length of her skirt. "I have to go teach Morgan some manners. It's not polite to play with your food."  
  
"I rather enjoy it," he responded lazily, wondering what prompted this. He watched her, surprised, as she glided quickly to the door.  
  
"I don't think you do it quite the same way Morgan does." She stopped on the threshold, just for a moment. "I'm going out of town myself today," she informed him suddenly. "I probably won't see you before you leave." A moment's hesitation, then she continued, "Have a safe trip. Whether you come back to the States or not, I do intend to see you again."  
  
"Thanks for the warning." He winked at her. A brief responding smile flitted over her face, but quickly disappeared as he continued, "I need some time to disappear before you get there. Make sure you call first."  
  
She blinked. "I wouldn't think of it," she answered, eyes narrowed in hurt for the second time. "There's nothing I enjoy more than making your life difficult -- except maybe ruining Kian's."   
  
His mouth tightened angrily. "I've told you to leave Kian alone."  
  
She nodded. Gliding softly towards him, more of a predator than a person, she only stopped when she was nearly touching him. "I won't touch Kian," she promised softly, knowing that her promise would be kept. She hadn't promised not to hurt him; she'd promised not to touch him. And in those two things lay a world of difference.   
  
Before he could react, she leaned forward, her mouth closing over his sharp cheekbone in what should have been a kiss. But instead her teeth scraped roughly over his skin until it broke and blood sprang from the marks. Then she pulled away.  
  
"You bit me, you bitch!" he swore, more shocked than angry or hurt. He shoved her away from him. The sting was already fading and he knew the mark had nearly disappeared, but the trickle of blood down his cheek was still heady to his senses -- even though it was his own.   
  
She smiled. "All's fair in the game of love and war," she answered softly, reaching to wipe away that glistening trail of blood and leaving a vibrant scarlet smear on his cheek. She brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue flicking out lazily to lick away his blood, savoring the exotic taste. Her eyes slid shut in drowning ecstasy. Sliding one finger in her mouth, lapping away all traces of the burning liquid, she murmured, "And I've just taken your pawn."  
  
  
***  
  
  
"I can't believe you," Jessa continued, as though Cameron hadn't said anything at all. "Maybe you should tell me that one more time just to make sure I got it."  
  
Cameron gritted her teeth. "I could say it seven times or seven thousand times and you're still going to hear the same thing. Telling you again isn't going to change it." She pushed a silky fall of black hair away from her forehead and glared.  
  
"Let me just make sure I've got this straight. Kieran Redfern offered -- no, 'begged' seems to be the more correct term here -- that you kill him and instead you kissed him? What could you possibly have been thinking? 'Maybe if I seduce him he'll let me live?'"  
  
Her blue eyes sharp and luminous with anger, Cameron answered flatly, "I couldn't kill him. I tried."  
  
Jessa nodded. "Right. I understand. Of course, next time he attaches himself to your neck, you might want to remember how you tried to kill him and try not to bleed to death, too." She laid her hands flat on table in front of her, itching to wring Cameron's lovely white neck. "I don't know why he hasn't killed you yet, Cam, but he will. You know that."  
  
"I know what he plans to do," Cameron said softly. "He hasn't exactly made a big secret out of it."  
  
"Well, what do you need?" her friend snapped. "A billboard? Because you certainly haven't seemed to grasp the concept."  
  
Cameron sat back in her chair, hurt. "I don't think anyone understands better than I do." Tears welled in those sky colored eyes, the watery sheen bringing emphasis to heartbreaking pain. Softly, she repeated, "I couldn't kill him."  
  
"Did you not have a stake?" Jessa demanded, searching for some explanation that made sense. She yanked absently at the golden waterfall of her hair, fingers sliding through sheets of flaxen strands, and she bit her lower lip in frustration.   
  
Cameron sighed. "That really isn't the point, Jessa. You know damned well I would have found a way around that if it had been a problem. I..." her voice trailed off, seeping into the air like water draining through dry sand.   
  
After several seconds of silence, Jessa shoved her chair back from the table and rose, resuming her patrol of the path between the stove and the refrigerator -- all six feet of it. "Lovely. So Kieran's not dead. We can work with this. What about Kian? He's still alive, right? You didn't decide to let the murderer go but kill your soulmate, did you?"  
  
Cameron tried to keep the guilt from creeping across her face. "He's still alive," she muttered. "I can't kill him, either, no matter how much I want to." She avoided Jessa's bottomless chocolate stare.   
  
"You don't want your soulmate dead," Jessa responded bitterly. Her eyes slid shut for just a second before snapping open to meet Cameron's own. "Maybe he can figure out a way to keep you alive."  
  
Grimacing, Cameron replied, "Now might not be the best time to ask him about that. I would venture to say that I'm not anywhere near even the bottom on his list of favorite people." She glanced to where Jessa had abruptly stopped pacing, her expression apologetic. She nervously twisted the ring on the third finger of her right hand.   
  
Jess' reaction wasn't long in coming. "What did you do?" she asked tiredly. She sounded almost like she'd been expecting this. Her hands crept to rest imperiously on her hips as she waited for an answer.   
  
"I told him never to come back," Cameron answered bravely, hoping Jessa's reaction would be on a smaller scale than the firework display they'd seen last July.   
  
No luck. "You what?!" Jessa gasped, her voice somewhere between a shriek and a growl, or maybe an odd combination of the two. Whatever words you wanted to use to describe the sound, it wasn't pleasant. She resumed her pacing and skeptically demanded, "Why would you do that?"  
  
Cameron decided that her reasons should probably be kept to herself. Jessa didn't seem highly conducive to her thought patterns today. "It doesn't matter," she said firmly. She hoped Jessa wouldn't argue with her on this one. "I don't know if it worked, but if it did, he won't be coming anywhere near me before I die. I don't think I was convincing enough to keep him from the funeral, but you never know."  
  
A look of utter shock washed over Jessa's face and she paused for a split second before regaining her composure. She eyed Cameron disbelievingly. "Third time's a charm, Cam. Maybe this time he'll actually stay away, whether it's your funeral or your birthday."  
  
"And Jean-Luc will suddenly start calling Remy and sending flowers," Cameron snapped. "Hell might freeze over, too." She shook her head, sitting up straight in the chair. "I really don't think it will really stop him, but I had to try."  
  
Jessa suddenly stopped pacing, hoisting herself onto the dove gray countertop. Cameron could tell she was trying not to fidget. "Why?" she asked.   
  
"I'm sick of dying!" Cameron's eyes dropped briefly, staring painfully into the wall's blank canvas. "I want to live my life and not concern myself with either of the twins or their damned games. I never asked for any of this. Just because I'm their soulmate --" The words died abruptly as she realized what she'd said.   
  
"Their?" One perfectly golden, perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose questioningly. "Did I just hear that right?"   
  
Cameron brushed her question aside. "It was a slip of the tongue," she muttered. "You know what I meant."   
  
"No, I really don't," Jessa argued, determined to pry any information she could out of her charge. Their? Something told her that was the first truly honest thing Cameron had said to her all night. "Why don't you enlighten me?"  
  
"About what?" She denied the accusation that there was more to tell doggedly. Silently, she cursed herself for not watching her mouth. Wonderful, Cameron, she thought. Why don't you just tell her everything and get it out of the way before you really screw it up?   
  
Jessa watched her, unmoved and unsympathetic. "I'm waiting."  
  
She wasn't going to get away with it. Sighing, she finally gave up, asking, "What exactly do you want to know?"  
  
"Their?"   
  
Only one word, but it prompted Cameron enough to answer honestly. "Kian and Kieran are both my soulmates. Happy? Now all my secrets have been revealed and you know why I didn't kill him tonight."  
  
"You could have said," Jessa accused. "Do you realize how much easier that would have made everything?"  
  
Cameron wasn't sure what she referred to. "Easier?"  
  
Jessa paused, disconcerted. Had she really said that? You should know better, Jessa, she scolded silently. "I wouldn't have made all these plans to find Kian, kill Kieran, et cetera. It would have saved a lot of work."   
  
"I suppose so," Cameron agreed. She flushed, embarrassment creeping over her features. "I just didn't want to tell you that you couldn't kill that twin either and ruin all your fun."  
  
Jessa slid off the counter, still reeling from Cameron's revelation, but trying her best to hide it. How was this possible? What...? She shook her head, hoping to clear it, but it didn't work. "So now what do we do?" she wondered, all her answers suddenly gone.   
  
Cameron didn't know how to answer her.   
  



	13. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 13

Nightmares hide in the shadows and in the dark, waiting around every corner and in every hastily drawn breath. Cameron had forgotten them, lost in her own threats and her own ultimatums.   
  
They came back in a startling flash of violet eyes.  
  
Every street she walked, she saw them. Blinking from a poster that hung tattered on a beaten brick wall. Winking at her as she passed a regally posed statue in the park. No matter where she went, Kieran's eyes haunted her.  
  
She knew it wasn't Kian she saw as she quickened her pace past the run-down buildings and empty warehouses. His eyes didn't hold that terrifying streak of cruelty or that intriguing flash of vulnerability all at the same time. The cruelty had been tempered, buried under so many layers that only his heart shone through. And in this, too, he and his twin were opposites.  
  
The thought made her shiver. She glanced quickly around the deserted street, empty but for the slinking shadow of a drug dealer or the unhurried prance of a successful prostitute flashing her wares.   
  
She suddenly wished she'd listened to Jessa's pleading as she begged her to stay home. But her stubborn streak had gotten the best of her and she had walked out, irritated with Jessa's depthless and somehow stinging shock.   
  
Now, shivering and violently trying to rub some feeling back into her uncovered arms, she wondered why she hadn't had the foresight to at least bring a stake.   
  
Stupid, Cameron, she scoffed silently. She'd walked miles in her anger. Anger at herself, for lacking the power to kill either of the twins. At her roommate, for her inability to leave well enough alone. At her soulmate...   
  
...for devoting his life to the destruction of her own.   
  
She'd never believed in fairy tale romance, but secretly, somewhere deep down in the depths of her being, she'd hoped it existed anyway. And why not? Didn't everyone want the prince to wake them from eternities of slumber with a soft and tender kiss? Didn't everyone silently hope that fire-breathing dragons would proudly be slain in their name?   
  
Even Remy...  
  
She giggled, shaking her head. Even Remy searched for his prince and hoped to find him beneath dew-kissed, starry nights. And, just like her, he ached to rest securely in his arms instead of sending him screaming in the other direction. Or instead of having him slip a knife into his back while he rested.   
  
She shivered again, casting another surreptitious glance around the painfully deserted streets.   
  
When a slender hand slipped to grasp her shoulder, she was completely unprepared. Jerking her body away from the harsh clamp of fingers, her body jerked to face her imagined attacker.   
  
Giacinta stared back at her guilelessly.   
  
Cameron blinked, relief pounding in her head and dragging her heart down from her clogged throat. Her pale, white hand hovered in the air and, realizing that she'd unconsciously lifted it, she lowered it slowly to her side. "You startled me," she gasped, a self-conscious giggle escaping from her full throat.   
  
Giacinta's full mouth curled in a tight smile. "Désolée," she murmured, but not a splash of regret wavered in her voice. "I didn't mean to."  
  
Brushing the vampire's apology aside, Cameron smiled. "It's my own fault for imagining all the terrible things waiting in the shadows. I've a terribly overactive imagination sometimes."  
  
Gracious. Giacinta's black orbs narrowed into slender, shimmering slits. Even when accepting an apology the girl was unintentionally graceful. How sickening. Then her eyes softened, opening wide and guileless. "Shadows can be dangerous," she said simply, with a lissome tilt of her deceptively delicate shoulder.   
  
Like delicacy, the shadows can be deceiving. Giacinta let hers fall over her like a mirage.   
  
"Dangerous," she repeated, her voice soft and slow like the slide of honey down a rough branch. "Perhaps we should stick together. Peril falls on those who walk alone."  
  
Cameron nodded, falling into step beside her, while her body screamed to run and to hide. To be far from this girl with eyes like black stars, absorbing everything and sharing nothing. "Where are you going?"   
  
"To hell," Giacinta replied cheerfully, "but not until I find my hand basket. They're so dreadfully easy to lose."  
  
"I--" Cameron paused, at a loss for words.  
  
"Kidding," the vampire laughed. "You've never heard the expression 'going to hell in a hand basket?'"  
  
Cameron relaxed, letting her unease glide away like a leaf on icy waters. "Not since my grandmother was alive," she admitted. Her sky blue eyes twinkled, a distant reminder of the midday sun in twilight hours.   
  
The full mouth drooped. "I can barely remember mine," Giacinta sighed wistfully.   
  
"I'm sorry," Cameron gasped, horrified that she caused the painful memories dampening this enigmatic girl's expression.   
  
Giacinta shrugged, memories of starvation and beatings at her grandmother's hands swirling below the surface. Overlaid with memories of how sweet her blood had tasted. "Don't be. It was a long time ago." She glanced at Cameron quickly. "Are you hungry? There's an adorable café around the corner."  
  
Flashes of screaming terror danced in her eyes' empty black depths, warning and foretelling, and Cameron hesitated, remembering the promises she'd seen in those eyes a time before. "Maybe just a little," she acknowledged.   
  
"I'm ravenous," Giacinta declared innocuously, widening her eyes. Those flickering, black flames leapt to life, burning darkly in her hollow, ebony pupils, paths of fire cutting into Cameron's skin without even a glimmer of apology. The scorching trails left imaginary bites branded on her smooth skin.   
  
Cameron shivered. "Then let's go," she suggested, suddenly immensely willing to be surrounded by a multitude of people.   
  
Giacinta smiled. "Yes, let's."  
  
***  
  
"Sugar?" Giacinta asked idly, holding up the last two slender white packets. She waved them teasingly under Cameron's nose, watching as the girl's eyes followed them greedily. "I take mine black, so if you want them, they're all yours."  
  
Grinning, Cameron answered, "I would love them, if you don't mind... My roommates constantly complain about my caffeine addiction. I don't think they realize it's the sugar I crave, not the coffee." She extended her hand, palm facing up, and waited for Giacinta to drop them in her cupped hand.   
  
"There are worse addictions to have," Giacinta responded mildly. Just as she opened her fingers to let the packets fall into Cameron's waiting palm, a large and rough looking man bumped against her chair. Giacinta fell forward and the packets tumbled to the floor. Her eyes sparkled angrily. "Hey! Watch what you're doing!"  
  
The man didn't spare her a glance. "Then keep your fat ass out of the way," he snarled, veering from the table. He walked out of the restaurant without an apology.   
  
"Nasty people," Giacinta muttered to herself as she leaned down to pick up the sugar. Beneath the table, the ghost of a smile flickered over her face. He'd be paid well for that bit of work. She slipped identical packages from her pocket smoothly, the sugar melting into vacant air. She produced the packets with a stunning smile. "There you go."  
  
Cameron smiled back, all earlier distrust vanished like a sudden summer storm. "Thanks," she said gratefully. She ripped the packets open and watched as crystalline specks poured into her mug. Picking up the slightly bent and misshapen spoon, she began to stir. Her hand stilled and she looked up. "What happened between you and Kian?"  
  
Giacinta sighed. "He made me into a vampire and then he left." She shrugged. "Nothing too complicated."  
  
"Did he make you any promises?" Cameron asked uncertainly. She lifted the steaming mug, letting the slightly bitter smell of coffee tantalize her. She breathed in deeply.   
  
Giacinta watched her, those snapping black eyes calculating. Take a drink, she willed impatiently. She picked up her own mug and sipped, hoping Cameron would follow her example. "Too many," she lied sweetly, her voice rueful and full of regret. "Where do you want me to start?"  
  
Cameron set the mug down abruptly, grasping the pitcher of cream and pouring in a healthy amount. She stirred it, then licked the excess liquid from the spoon. "Wherever you think is best."  
  
"He promised me forever," the vampire offered. She toyed idly with her own unused spoon. "And he did give me that, even if it was a different version than he promised." She raised her eyes to meet Cameron's. "The forever that he promised was with him."  
  
"Isn't that what they always promise?" Cameron asked wryly. She shook her head in disgust and took a large swallow of the coffee. Giacinta hid her smile.  
  
"Some of them," she agreed. "Others are a little more honest." She smiled softly. "Some actually mean it, but they're the rare ones."   
  
"Too rare," Cameron sighed. She tapped the spoon thoughtlessly against the Formica tabletop and chewed on her bottom lip. "I don't know what to do about him," she admitted finally.  
  
Giacinta grinned, baring sharp, white teeth. "Personally, I'd stake him." Her eyes glinted as Cameron sipped at her coffee. "But then, I realized what he's like a long time ago."   
  
"I can't stake him," Cameron muttered, with a particularly vicious slam of the spoon. A dent appeared in the shiny table. "He's my soulmate. Him and his damned brother. I'm stuck with them whether I like it or not."  
  
So she'd been right. Giacinta silently commended herself. Sweetly she suggested, "If they're both your soulmate, why don't you just kill one of them? There's always the other one to take his place."  
  
But Cameron shook her head, her long hair swinging around her like a silken ebony cloak. "I don't think it works like that, although it would be so much simpler if it did."  
  
"Life isn't simple," Giacinta reminded her.   
  
"I know," Cameron answered. The expression in her sky eyes was far away, skipping over places Giacinta could never even imagine. Then they cleared and her mouth curled. "Besides, with my luck, I'd kill the wrong one."  
  
Giacinta giggled. "Believe me, if you killed them both, you probably wouldn't be missing much." She reached into her pocket and threw some money on the table, one coin rolling and teetering dangerously close to the edge. "Finish your coffee and let's go. I think they're ready to close."  
  
Glancing up, Cameron saw that she was right. Their waitress glared at them from across the room, wiping the same spot on the counter until Cameron thought she should have formed a hole. She picked up her mug and downed her drink in one swallow. "Ready?"  
  
"Bien sûr." Giacinta rose, shoving her chair under the table with a loud squeal. The waitress glowered. "Otherwise I think we'd be thrown out."  
  
They wound their way through the empty restaurant. The neon sign proudly proclaiming "open" flickered and died, leaving the window an empty and colorless void. They walked quickly through the smudged glass door. Cameron glanced back at the vampire and remarked, "I thought you said you were hungry."   
  
Giacinta nodded. "The waitress was the wrong vintage," she said with a grin, eyeing Cameron's neck in a way she didn't like at all. "I like mine... fresher."  
  
Unease crashed over Cameron like a tidal wave. "You can't get much fresher than straight from the artery," she answered, desperately wishing Giacinta's expression wasn't quite so famished. She quickened her pace.  
  
"Not really," Giacinta agreed, the stunning hunger never quite vanishing from her endless pupils or the sharp plane of her cheek. Then abruptly, her expression changed. "You know, I don't like you."  
  
Cameron's mouth fell open in surprise. All traces of amicability sucked into some unknown vortex, Giacinta's face was a portrait of unmasked hatred, still flushed with that consuming hunger. "But--"  
  
"No 'buts,'" she interrupted, stopping to face the witch. Cameron couldn't help but notice the street was alarmingly dark -- and deserted. "It's nothing personal," she continued, as though this was everyday conversation, "and I'm being perfectly honest with you. In different circumstances, I might like you. We might have been friends. But Fate had different ideas." She smiled apologetically.  
  
"Why?" Cameron snapped, utterly stunned and trying not to show it. "Do you have a reason other than Fate or am I just supposed to guess?"  
  
Giacinta considered that. "I guess if you really want, we could always play twenty questions or hangman. But what do I get if you lose?"  
  
Cameron's eyes narrowed. "Your life."  
  
A flash of that stunning smile. "Wrong answer. All I've ever wanted is your beloved soulmate. If I can't have him, why play? It takes all the fun away."  
  
Realization seeped over Cameron slowly and pale blue eyes met empty black. "Kian and I are soulmates. He's never been yours and he never will be. Do you think my willingness to hand him over would change that?"  
  
"Not a chance," Giacinta responded cheerfully. "I would have had him long ago if that were the case. But this time, ma chère, all the rules have changed."  
  
"Nothing's changed!" Cameron snapped, her voice furious and full of the subtle violence of an asp. "Kieran is still out to kill me and now I have you after me, too! How is that different?"  
  
Giacinta countered her question with a question. "Do you really think Kieran will be able to kill you this time?" She laughed a rich, throaty laugh that rolled over Cameron's clammy skin like poison. "Is that what you think?" she repeated.  
  
"Do you really think he won't?" Cameron asked coolly.   
  
Giacinta sobered. "No, I don't." Flat and unceremonious, her words rang with shimmering truth. She stared at Cameron emotionlessly. "Kieran will never be able to kill you. Not now, not ever. Because he's weak," she spat the word out venomously, "I have to finish the job."  
  
"Where is that written in stone?" Cameron responded acidly. "Please show me so I can shatter it into a thousands pieces."  
  
"That would be telling." Giacinta checked her watch quickly. "It wouldn't do you much good at this point, anyway."  
  
Cameron rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. I have five minutes to live?" Her mouth curled in a disgusted sneer. "If you're going to try to kill me, please get on with it."  
  
Shaking her head, Giacinta smirked. "Without getting any time to play? Oh, I'm not going to kill you. Not yet. That would be too easy and you'd just come back. No, I'm going to have my fun first."  
  
Chills raced down Cameron's spine. "You don't really think I'm going to come with you willingly, do you?" She backed slowly away, knowing nothing behind her would be in the way.   
  
"Willingly? No. But you will come. You really don't have much choice in the matter." She flipped her identical fall of raven hair over her shoulder, sounding entirely too cheerful. "It's already been taken care of."  
  
Cameron glanced quickly around the street, but no matter how hard she looked, no one else appeared. Her gaze slid skeptically back to Giacinta. "Just how are you expecting to accomplish this? I've taken down more powerful vampires than you." Even as the words left her mouth, her mind screamed she was stupid for antagonizing the vampire, she should run, flee, escape...  
  
But oddly enough, Giacinta hadn't moved, although Cameron had already put at least fifteen feet of open space between them. She remained bathed in shadows, simply watching, simply waiting.   
  
Finally she spoke. "I won't need to fight you, ma chère. You don't seem to understand, but I've already won."  
  
Just then, Cameron felt numbness shoot through her body, stabbing into the tips of her fingers and burying itself in the pit of her stomach. Shocked, she tried desperately to wiggle her toes or her fingers. Anything to get them to move.   
  
They stayed appallingly still.   
  
"What did you do?" Hot, accusing blue eyes, shining like a pulsar star in the middle of boundless black. Whispers of ice creeping along her spine. Each vertebrae slowly dissolving in a cushion of air and her body falling, falling. The hard ground rushing to meet her with a thud but no pain.   
  
"Just a little spell," Giacinta whispered, unable to keep the threads of triumph from her voice. "Really, ma chère, you won't feel a thing. In fact, you won't even be awake for it."  
  
"I thought you said you wanted to play." The words were so hard to force out. Her face, like the rest of her body, was disappearing into a hot pool of blissful nothingness, where not even Giacinta could harm her.  
  
Giacinta watched her muscles relax one by one, drained of energy and feeling. "Oh, I do, almost more than anything. Almost. You're not going to die on me yet. I'll have my fun first."  
  
And with those last ominous words, Cameron slipped out of consciousness.   
  



	14. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 14

Bleeding Hearts - Part 14   
  
A cool, wind chime voice pushed through her head. "Again, Cameron?" Xanthe sighed, the sound brushing disappointed and disapproving. Murmurs drifted to her in shallow, sluggish spurts and Xanthe's mind floated away.   
  
Then Damie's voice pealed, replacing Xanthe's coolness with hurried and worried tones. "Oh, Cam," she gasped, "why couldn't you listen to Jessa and just stay put?" Quick flashes of yellow and sunlight streaming briefly through the otherwise silent void.   
  
And Remy, his slow, lazy purr rumbling softly. "Pas encore, ma chère," he added, like the gentle growl of far-off thunder, listless and disgruntled. And somehow she knew that Jessa would be the only one to keep silent, saving her censure for a later time.  
  
They melded, swirling through the empty space, while each silently gave their support and encouragement, so badly needed and so far away. One thought slipped unheeded through each of their minds, one they each meant to catch and hide. We cannot help you now.  
  
She was strapped securely to a cold, metal table.   
  
Something -- ropes, she would guess -- bit harsh and uncaring into her wrists and tore at her flesh. She moved her hands gingerly, aching at the pain and yet welcoming that she could again feel them. Her body alternately burned and chilled, but at least she knew it was there. Right now, that was the most important thing.   
  
Wincing, she slowly opened her eyes. Light flooded at her in blinding spikes and she involuntarily sucked in a quick breath. Don't fight it, focus, let it in... And then suddenly, everything was blazingly clear.   
  
Not a dungeon or some high tech torture chamber like she'd first imagined. Just a simple, ordinary room, decorated in true seventeenth-century style and complete with gilt. The stainless steel table was sorely out of place.   
  
Raising her upper body and ignoring the blistering pain scratching at every limb, she was fortunate to find that not only were her hands bound, but her feet were, too. Lovely. Giacinta must have something fun and exciting planned.  
  
She collapsed back against the hard table. Her muscles pulled and groaned, taking her mind away from the nauseating fear threatening to consume her. The pain, at least, was good for something.  
  
Now, she guessed, the only thing she could do was wait. Perhaps only seconds passed. Giacinta wasn't long in coming.   
  
She entered the room laughing and her eyes never left Cameron's scornful face. In her hand was a glass of winding blue liquid, which she sipped absently. Her expression was thoughtful, yet anticipatory. "We can make this easy or we can make this hard," she said suddenly, setting down her glass.   
  
"Easy?" Cameron gasped in mock horror, brilliant blue eyes glaring. "I thought you said this would be fun!"   
  
Giacinta only smiled and stepped closer. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you," she advised calmly. "Perhaps you should try another technique. Begging, maybe?"  
  
"I'll take Stupid Suggestions for four hundred, Alex." Her voice was derisive. "I don't beg," she continued flatly, keeping her body still and relaxed, unwilling to let Giacinta see just how afraid she was.   
  
A brief widening of that hateful smile. "Oh, you will," she promised. That promise glittered in her eyes like slicing diamond blades and Cameron would have shivered, if she'd been able to move.   
  
Giacinta turned, walking to one of the ornate cabinets and sliding open an exquisitely carved drawer. A glint of silver flashed brightly. She turned. "I would gag you," she said conversationally, "but then I wouldn't be able to hear you scream."   
  
"Why don't I just scream now and get it over with?" Cameron suggested brightly. "That way we can skip the pain."  
  
Giacinta shook her head. "Ma chère, you were the one who wanted this done the hard way. It's too easy if it doesn't involve blood."  
  
Alarm shot through Cameron like a cannonball, not merely destroying her hopes, but demolishing them into slivers of unease. "Obviously, I can't stop you." Her head turned to follow the vampire's slinking footsteps. "I don't think whatever pain you cause me will influence Kian in your favor."  
  
The slow pacing stopped. "Who said I wanted Kian's favor?" she asked softly, her eyes sparkling with the hurt of betrayal. "I'm long past that."  
  
The pacing resumed and Cameron once again followed her progress with shadowed eyes. "If you're not doing this to win Kian, then why are you doing it?"  
  
"Revenge," she answered simply. She glided toward her gracefully, stopping just at the foot of the table. This time Cameron knew it was for real. "He hurt me more than anyone has. Payback might be a bitch," she added, a malicious smile playing on her lips, "but I taught her all my tricks."   
  
"Lovely," Cameron sighed, exasperated. "Not only do I pay for being his soulmate, but I also pay for his mistakes."  
  
Giacinta shrugged, idly beginning to twirl a finely honed and beautifully crafted knife. Cameron guessed the knife was what she'd taken from the drawer. Her pitiless black eyes met Cameron's squarely. "Il ne se blesse qu'une seconde."  
  
And Cameron suddenly knew she would be merciless and she would be cruel.   
  
I will not scream, she thought wildly. I will not give her the pleasure of seeing my pain. Her eyes slid shut and she braced herself for the fire-hot agony she knew would come.   
  
"Seulement pour une seconde," she repeated and her black eyes snapped merrily. The knife sliced down, smooth and clean, as though it cut through butter and not bone. Despite what she had promised herself, the stabbing pain curled and rose in the pit of her stomach. Shouldn't her arm or her wrist or her hand hurt? Shouldn't the pain radiate from the wound and not from the very core of her being?  
  
And when the pain shot through her veins, racing like a molten river from her stomach to the very tips of her fingers, jumping from nerve to nerve in blinding, tear-inducing flashes, she could only welcome the kiss of cold steel. The scream ripped through her throat without warning.   
  
It only hurts for a second, but that second can seem long.   
  
  
***  
  
  
Her screams rang in Jessa's ears like gunshots, short and bursting. She wanted to muffle the sound, to stop its slithering slide through her head, but it echoed like a plea reverberating through an empty canyon. It was a sound more desperate than any she'd heard and one she would never forget.   
  
Only the most cruel can forget death.   
  
Winding through the streets, she ran, ignoring the rough slam of cement against her feet and the startled gasp of human bystanders. She stopped for nothing and for no one. Their astonishment rolled over her slowly, barely clinging before dropping swiftly away. She ran.  
  
Faster, run, find your charge and save her... She could still hear the tepid, sluggish beat of her heart and her screams, those awful, high wails of pain. But just because she could hear them didn't mean she was alive. The gentle tug wrestling Jessa away from the street did.   
  
She veered to the left, down a moss-covered, slimy alley. Puddles lay murkily, deep and unrepentant, and she ran through them with little thought. She would not fail this time and the Gucci shoes meant little to her mission.  
  
One fat, homeless man was brave enough to get in her way. "Lady, can I--?"  
  
She ran past him without even hearing and he resumed his slumped position against the hard and filthy brick wall. He watched her go, wondering what could possibly be so important that she couldn't spare some change.   
  
Only a few more blocks now. She burst out of the alley, shoving her way through throngs of humans who glared and pushed her back. She ignored them. The tug was stronger now, wrenching through her chest in heated flashes. Only a few more blocks.   
  
Then, abruptly, the feeling dissipated, vanishing from her mind as quickly and as coldly as mist. She stopped and horror flooded over her delicate features.   
  
The bond was gone.  
  
Someone had broken the spell.   
  
And if Jessa didn't find her soon, Cameron may very well be doomed.   
  
  
****  
  
  
So close. Perhaps only one hundred feet away, but still she could not find her. Tears of frustration welled in Jessa's eyes. Again, she was running, but this time away from the place where Cameron writhed in agony. She wound through street after street and down dirty alleys.   
  
Finally, she stopped.  
  
The apartments were old and dingy, the paint chipped as though it had seen thousands of lives pass before it, with an air of sullen neglect. She didn't see the sagging white pillars or the cracking cement as she passed them. The battered door squealed when she opened it and slammed behind her on its volition. She took the steps quickly.  
  
When she reached apartment 4C, she didn't bother to knock. She simply kicked the door in.   
  
A rather rumpled Kian looked up from his place on the couch, shock bringing his red-rimmed eyes and sulky mouth to life. He stood, alarmed, and raked a strong hand through his tousled burgundy hair. "What do you want?"   
  
"Giacinta has Cameron," she said flatly, waiting for his eyes to light with anger. They remained curiously empty.   
  
He stared at her and then he shrugged. Sadly, he answered, "She and Kieran already won. Are you really that surprised? They always win." He turned away to resume his slumped position on the sagging couch.   
  
Jessa blinked, torn between the desire to comfort him and the desire to slap him across the face. She did neither. "Your esteemed brother has nothing to do with this," she informed him coolly. "I doubt he even knows."   
  
He lowered his head, dropping it into his hands. He looked... broken. As if someone had tried to put him back together and erred horribly, leaving on this grotesque and misshapen parody of a boy. One who could walk and talk, but could no longer feel. "Don't let him fool you," he advised. "No matter what he says, he's right in the middle of this."  
  
"I didn't ask him," Jessa answered, her eyes swirling with amber flecks of anger. "Regardless of whether he's involved or not, I need your help. I can't find her without you."  
  
He shook his head, fingers twisting through his burgundy locks as though he was trying to rip it out. "She doesn't need me," he sighed.   
  
"She doesn't need you?" she asked, repeating his statement softly and lethally. He didn't answer her, didn't even flinch at the tone of her voice.   
  
She lost her temper. Without realizing what she was doing, she stalked over to the couch, leaning over to until her face was level with his. "Kian," she said calmly. He simply shook his head in denial. She straightened, rising from her bent position, and contemplated his broken posture. Then she slapped him. Her palm cracked across his face with a resounding smack.   
  
He blinked, startled.   
  
"We don't have time to for you to sit around and feel sorry for yourself." A cool wind blew in her voice. "Even if you don't want to save her, I do, and if I have to hurt you to get your help, I will."  
  
His sharp cheeks slowly flushed a savage crimson. "I can't help you," he said quietly and turned away.   
  
She knocked him to the floor with a swift roundhouse kick. He fell to his knees, his hands breaking the fall and keeping his proud face from smashing through the glass table next to the couch. "Wrong answer," she replied. Her accompanying smile was sweet.   
  
Pushing himself carefully off the floor, those heady violet eyes snapped with fury. "Maybe you don't understand. I can't help you."  
  
A bit of snooping in the jade green recesses of her mind told her he believed that. She calmed down just a little, letting her blood cool and her pulse settle to a more sedate pace. "Why not?" she asked, hoping he would explain, because she certainly didn't understand.   
  
His eyes were hot. "Because I can't feel her. Only Kieran and I together will ever be able to figure out where she is." His burning gaze dropped, tracing the carpet's oriental pattern.  
  
"Then we find Kieran," she stated. She started for the broken door, expecting him to follow. If he didn't, she'd just drag him. She had the feeling he knew that. "And then we find Cameron. Where is he?"  
  
Just like a faithful puppy, he trailed behind her. "At the airport." No concern and no emotion -- nothing -- filtered into his voice. He was resigned, and clearly sure that Cameron was as good as dead. "My car's out front."  
  
"Why would he be at the airport?" she wondered, while Kian tried half-heartedly to make the door stay shut.   
  
With a disgusted sigh, he gave up. "I would assume because he's leaving," he answered with an unconcerned shrug. He led the way down the broken stairs, car keys materializing into his hand.   
  
"Where would he go?" she probed. If she had to chase him to Africa, he would pay dearly, and not just in cash. If they were lucky, they'd make it to the airport before his plane left. She could only hope.   
  
He held the door open for her, genteel even after she'd threatened to harm him, and waited for her to exit the building before he answered. "He has an apartment in Las Vegas he goes to sometimes. Maybe to visit our cousin Jihn, if he can find her. She has a habit of disappearing."   
  
She almost stopped in shock. "Jihn Blackthorne is your cousin?"   
  
Stepping down from the soon to be condemned porch, he sent her a wry look. "Jihn is a cousin, yes. I can see how that would surprise you."  
  
Oh, it surprised her all right. Like her, Jihn was a Guardian, newly appointed and quite disgruntled about it. The last time Jessa had seen her, she'd been muttering something about how Antarctica had more people than the place she was being sent.   
  
But her reason for being surprised would mean nothing to Kian. Few people knew about Guardians or what they did.   
  
He walked to a sporty black car, kicking trash and broken bottles out of his way as he went. Inserting the key into the lock quickly, he gallantly opened the door, then waited patiently until she settled into the plush gray seat. He closed the door behind her with a quick jerk of his wrist.   
  
"I would never have guessed," she admitted, shrugging, as he climbed in the other side. "Although I suppose the last name should have been a good tip."  
  
He shook his tousled head. "There are so many Redferns running around that even if you were to trace back their genealogy, you probably wouldn't find the link."  
  
Silently, she agreed, but out loud she said, "Which airport?"  
  
"Logan International." He glanced at her, frowning, that gorgeous mouth curving in concern. "Seatbelt, please." He started the car. "You know he's not going to come willingly."   
  
"Neither were you," she pointed out, raising an eyebrow and fastening her seatbelt, "and yet now you're driving to the airport to kidnap your brother."  
  
He sighed, pulling the car easily out of the cramped parking space. His eyes were trained on the road, but she wasn't sure he even noticed what was around them. He'd put himself on autopilot, she knew. "Yes, but when Kieran gets angry, people die. He's not--" he searched hopelessly for a word to describe him, but none came. "He's dangerous."  
  
Jessa's eyes glinted. "So am I."   
  
Kian glanced at her, turning the car down a deserted street, and smiled. "He's had more practice and he's never dealt well with opposition. Just a warning."  
  
"I've never been good with those," Jessa admitted. She reached to flip on the radio. Music flooded into the car, straining chords rising around them in a melodious dance. "Do you mind?"  
  
"A little late to ask, isn't it?" he questioned, but he shook his head. "It's fine. It's pointless to argue about something so small when the fight we're about to get into is far worse."  
  
She had a sudden, sinking feeling he was right. 


	15. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 15

"I should have thought about what the blood would do to the carpets," Giacinta muttered agitatedly, hovering over the vivid scarlet stain and wringing her hands in distraction. She glared at Cameron from beneath lush ebony lashes. "Hasn't anyone told you it's not polite to bleed all over the place?"  
  
A strangled laugh tore from her throat. "I wasn't aware I had a choice. After all, you were the one holding the knife." She coughed, blood bubbling into her mouth and running a vermilion trail across her cheek.   
  
Giacinta glanced up, momentarily distracted, and reached to smear the bloody path into a translucent rosy smudge. She sucked the rich blood from her fingers almost absently. "You were the one who had to be smart about it," she answered sulkily. Her hand snaked out to flick at an angry and gaping gash on Cameron's arm.  
  
She gasped, biting back a shrill scream. "And you were the one who had to be messy," she managed through gritted teeth. "Don't blame this on me."  
  
"Well, the carpets are worth nothing compared to the pleasure hearing you scream gave me," Giacinta purred, probing at another open wound and delighting in Cameron's wincing shudder.   
  
Cameron fought against hazy waves of mind-numbing pain. "I'll remember that," she replied, her concentration wavering. "It was a rather tepid performance on my part. I'll try to aim for 'blood-curdling' next time."  
  
"You do that," Giacinta said brightly, patting her gently on the head. "And I'll do my best to make sure you've got blood to go along with that."  
  
Wrenching her head away, Cameron nearly screamed in agony. "Do you really expect him to come after me?" she whispered, though the pain was scorching and harsh.   
  
She smiled. "Oh, I know he'll come. Kian is predictable, if nothing else." She shrugged and turned toward the doorway, gesturing for the girl standing there to enter.   
  
"As a radioactive warhead," Cameron retorted sweetly. Bound as she was on the table, she couldn't see the witch standing behind her. "One life he's murdering me, then next he's stalking me and begging forgiveness."  
  
Giacinta paused, considering her words. "He's got the mental stability of a monkey on crack, doesn't he?" She shook her head and sighed, the sound loud and mocking, reverberating through the spacious room. Then her attention slid to the witch standing nearby, clutching a bag and looking bored. "Don't take too long, Calista," she ordered imperiously. "I'd like to get back to work."   
  
Calista raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Giacinta smiled charmingly and left the room. Calista waited until she knew she was gone, then moved to the side of the table, staring down at Cameron's bloody and battered face. Cameron stared back defiantly.  
  
Calista sighed. "This is going to take some work," she muttered, resigned. She smoothed a blood-soaked lock of hair away from Cameron's face. Her touch was gentle.   
  
"Helping her accomplish her goal?" Cameron asked, her voice as cold as she could manage. She tried to ignore the pain, bringing Kian's gentle visage to mind instead and concentrating on the memory of his burning violet eyes. It warmed her and chased away the pain.   
  
Calista laughed, the sound self-derisive and bitter. "Not bloody likely," she answered. "I owe that bitch a favor for saving my brother's life." She laid her hands on Cameron's arm, cool green light flooding over the still bleeding gashes. She paused a moment and the light faded. "Do you want to die?"  
  
Meeting her eyes with a mixture of scorn and compassion, Cameron countered her question with one of her own, "What do you think? That I want her to win?"  
  
Calista's eyes blazed at her answer, fierce and urgent. "Then listen to me," she commanded. "She's asked me to heal all these bloody cuts she's inflicted on you. She intends to do more damage when they're healed. I imagine you expect as much. You're a witch, right?"   
  
Cameron nodded affirmatively, suddenly listening to the other witch. A witch who clearly had reasons of her own for being there, ones that didn't include biting pain or massive blood loss.  
  
"Giacinta will stop at nothing." Cameron wondered at the caustic venom in the witch's words. She certainly couldn't disagree with her, otherwise she wouldn't be here. "You can stop her."  
  
Now it was Cameron's turn to laugh. "With what? My astounding logic and wit? Giacinta isn't really the type to listen while she turns my body into the world's freshest sirloin steak."   
  
"You only need to draw blood," Calista answered, ignoring her sarcasm pointedly. She closed her eyes again, murmuring words Cameron couldn't hear in a language she didn't know. The wound on her arm sealed instantaneously. The witch moved down to the foot of the shiny metal table and grasped Cameron's leg.   
  
"That won't be hard at all," Cameron answered brightly. "After all, she's the one holding the knife."  
  
Calista's expression turned sardonic. "Her blood, not yours."  
  
Cameron heaved an exasperated sigh and nearly screamed at the pain it caused. "I know that," she murmured, her voice wavering. Tears sprang to her blue eyes, turning them a vivid cobalt, but she blinked them back. "Then what do I do? Wait until she bleeds to death?"  
  
Shaking her head, Calista waited until the deep and brutal cuts on Cameron's leg healed. "No, there's a spell," she answered quietly. She glanced at the door, deep violet eyes shadowed by her long lashes.   
  
Blinding warmth flooded Cameron's battered body. "Why would you tell me this?" she questioned, keeping her voice so low that Calista nearly didn't hear her.   
  
The witch shrugged. "Because even after I do her this favor, it won't be over. She has something I want and you can help me get it."  
  
"What is it you want?" Cameron asked softly, watching the witch's shadowed violet eyes darken with more disillusion than she'd ever known in her life.   
  
"My brother's life," she whispered. The deep pain was evident in her expression and in her voice. Whatever Giacinta had done, it had scarred horribly.  
  
Blinking, Cameron replied, "But I thought you said she saved his life."  
  
Calista hesitated, moving to a wound near the base of Cameron's long, white neck. Finally, she admitted, "She did. And then she kept it." Glowing green filled Cameron's vision and the heat flooded into her spine, dancing like a thousand licking flames. "She promised to let him go after this, but I know it's not bloody likely, not with all the 'favors' she's managed to get out of me."  
  
"How can I help you?" Cameron wondered. Calista couldn't help but notice the bitterness filtering through her voice. "I'm strapped to a hospital gurney and she's turning me into a pincushion. What am I supposed to do, bite her?"  
  
"Use your imagination," Calista shrugged. "I'm sure you'll find an opportunity." She healed a shallow cut on Cameron's hollow cheek. "Do you want the spell or not?"  
  
Uneasiness hovered over Cameron like a thick blanket. Of course, she wanted it. At this point, anything working in her favor would be welcome. She couldn't help but wonder, however, just how honest this witch was being. She sounded sincere... but the whole thing could be another ploy of Giacinta's. Did she take the risk?  
  
As if that was ever in question. Of course, she did. What other choice did she have? She'd played the victim long enough and this little stint of fun at Giacinta's leisure brought up memories she didn't want. The past was dead. She fully intended it to stay that way.   
  
"Almost done?" Giacinta asked casually from the doorway.   
  
Neither of them had heard her return. Calista looked up, her cool violet eyes betraying none of her surprise. "Nearly. Just a few more cuts and bruises."   
  
Giacinta smiled tightly. "Good. I can't have her dying on me, and especially not from blood loss. That would ruin all my plans."   
  
Letting a sheet of silky brown hair fall around her face like a shield, Calista looked back down at Cameron's arm and rolled her eyes, knowing Giacinta wouldn't see. "I'm almost done," she said, eyeing a gaping slash on Cameron's abdomen with distaste.   
  
"Five minutes," Giacinta told her flatly, then she disappeared into the obscurity of the hallway.   
  
"Well?" Calista demanded, her voice just a shade above a whisper. "Erin and I searched endlessly for this bloody spell. It's yours if you want it. Just say the word."  
  
Cameron's eyes widened at the mention of Erin's name. How...? Now wasn't the time to wonder about the details. They had five minutes and Cameron intended to make use of every second. "I'm listening," she said.   
  
Calista smiled. "This is what you need to do."  
  
  
***  
  
  
Kian seemed to know exactly where they were going.   
  
They wound their way through crowds of tourists and foreigners slowly, jostled by baggage and angry parents chasing their children. He led her through a terminal quickly. He stopped. Jessa looked around, her brow furrowed, and checked the sign for the destination of Kieran's flight, hoping he hadn't departed.  
  
In bold, flashing letters, the word moved across the screen. Now, wait, that couldn't be right...  
  
"Afghanistan?" she yelped. "Who could he possibly know in Afghanistan?"   
  
Kian shrugged, walking toward the desk. "I told you Jihn disappears a lot."  
  
She had to bite her tongue so she didn't blurt out Jihn's actual location. She'd have to explain how she knew, what Jihn was doing there... It would be a mess. So instead she kept silent while Kian talked to the bored attendant.   
  
"When does the flight leave?" Kian asked her politely. Her nametag read "Jill." She bestowed him with an incredulous look, then pointed to the wall, where the departure time was clearly listed. He had the grace to look abashed. "Boarding hasn't started?"  
  
Her lashes dropped flirtatiously. "It'll start in about twenty minutes." Her southern twang was unmistakable.   
  
Kian thanked her courteously and smiled, then walked away. She watched his progress, glaring at Jessa, her eyes wistful. "So where is Kieran?" he wondered, frowning. He scanned the crowd futilely. No one in the waiting area resembled Kieran. Or Kian, for that matter.   
  
"Are you sure he's here?" Jessa looked somewhat doubtful. If Kieran really was on this flight, he should be sitting in one of the under-stuffed chairs, looking bored. Of course, if this were a perfect world, he wouldn't be here in the first place.   
  
It was too damned bad the world wasn't perfect.  
  
"Perfect is boring," Kian informed her absently, his violet gaze still raking over the mass of people. "Could you imagine a world where everything went exactly the way you wanted all the time? We'd all end up like Joan Crawford, and I can't imagine everyone in the world thinking that highly of themselves."  
  
"Or finding their soulmates so easily? And having them stay alive?" Jessa raised her eyebrow and waited.   
  
Kian merely looked uncomfortable. He turned away, his gaze sweeping over the crowd one more time. "There he is." He pointed across the terminal to where a boy with mulberry-colored hair and a bored expression sprawled carelessly in his seat.   
  
He started across the terminal before she could stop him. She sighed, trailing behind him and wishing God had given Kian more sense than he'd given her hamster. Accost Kieran in an open airport? Brilliant idea. Maybe tomorrow they could blow up Beacon Hill.   
  
The two were already arguing when she finally pushed her way to their side. They stood inches from each other, hatred blazing like a banner between them.  
  
"What the hell do you want?" Kieran demanded angrily. He looked like a startled Rottweiler, all feral eyes and snapping teeth. She felt a momentary chill at the fierceness buried in his expression, bubbling like acid below the surface.   
  
Suddenly afraid that something was about to combust, she stepped forward. "We need your help."  
  
The horror in Kian's eyes told her it had been the wrong thing to say. Kieran's smile spread like butter across his face, slow and rich. "Forget it," he said, his voice uncompromising, and turned away. He sat back down in the uncomfortable airport seat and closed his heavily lashed eyes, dismissing them.  
  
Kian looked ready to commit murder, which Jessa bet wasn't too far off the mark. His hands clenched into angry white balls. His artery pulsed at the base of his neck like an off-beat drum, erratic and violent. Jessa laid a calming hand on his tight forearm. The fury is his eyes almost made her pause, but she shook her head.   
  
Don't slap him, Kian warned mentally, remembering what she'd done to him at this stage in the argument. You'll be missing more than your hand.  
  
She nearly laughed. And would have, if she hadn't been afraid it would set Kieran off. With luck, it would only arouse his curiosity, but she really wasn't willing to take the risk. At the moment she was more concerned with how close she could get to him without getting her head ripped off.   
  
I'd keep a safe distance, Kian advised. If she hadn't been so absorbed with Kian, she would have taught him a valuable lesson about snooping in other people's thoughts. A valuable lesson involving toothpicks and some really blunt Popsicle sticks.   
  
Now was not the time for that, however. Moving slowly, she eased into the chair next to his twin. Kieran didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge her presence. "Giacinta's going to kill her, you know."   
  
That got his attention. He didn't open his eyes, but his body tensed, the muscles going taunt, and his mouth tightened. If she hadn't been watching so closely, she wouldn't have noticed, but Jessa was never one to miss the finer details.   
  
"I could hear her all the way across Boston," she mused thoughtfully. "Of course, the bond between us helped, but she was screaming so loudly I don't think I would have missed it anyway. You've heard what a dying cat sounds like, right?" He didn't respond, but she could tell her words were tearing him into pieces, even if he looked as interested as Damie's comatose grandfather. She shrugged, then continued, "I'd say Giacinta's going to give up soon. She won't kill her quickly. A quick death wouldn't be worth the trouble she put into kidnapping her." A quick peek at his tormented features. "But I suppose this doesn't interest you."   
  
He still didn't answer. Two curious indents hollowed into Kian's lower lip and his eyes were more silver than violet. She held up a cautious hand. With a muttered curse, he subsided, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.   
  
Kieran inhaled sharply. "What do you want from me?" he repeated. As least his voice was civil this time, instead of promising imminent torture and various cruelties.   
  
"Kian can't find her without you," Jessa answered. "I can't find her at all. Giacinta's done something, broken the bond between us." Flat refusal wavered in Kieran's eyes. "You don't have to help us save her," she assured him quickly, "just help us find her."  
  
I think he was actually considering it, Kian murmured thoughtfully, his surprise evident. A short spark of hope warmed her, then he brushed that aside. He changes his mind faster than a skydiver hits earth without a parachute. Keep talking.  
  
"I think at one point, she actually used a meat cleaver. Cameron's thoughts weren't very coherent, though, so I'm not sure, but--"  
  
Kieran cut her off with a quick jerk of his wrist. "Shut up." Cold eyes met hers, violet drenched in cold blue ice. Frosty shards kissed the edge of his pupil, flaring like glacial currents and drowning her hopes. "Talk about something that effects me or leave. I don't care."   
  
It only took a moment to realize that Kian had lost his temper. His motions blurred, but when she blinked, he'd curled his fists in Kieran's shirt and their faces were once again only inches apart.   
  
But this time, Kieran looked startled.   
  
"Do you want to find her or not?" Kian demanded savagely, his voice suddenly fierce and dangerous, while his eyes spit desperate violet anger. He stared hard at his twin, for once not at odds with himself or his other half.   
  
Kieran merely looked thoughtful. "Not," he decided obstinately. He reached to remove Kian's hands from his shirt, but was surprised to find himself pressed harder against the back of the chair.   
  
"That," Kian responded in a voice colder than Kieran had ever managed, "was not one of your options."   
  
"If it wasn't an option, then why did you give me a choice?" Kieran countered nastily. "Let go or you won't ever find her. I'll make sure of that."  
  
Jessa shifted nervously. "Ultimatums are not going to keep Cameron alive," she pointed out, hoping the twins would stop the useless fighting and just work together for once.  
  
The younger of the twins looked at her calmly. She wondered how he could be so self-possessed even when his twin was threatening to kill him in the middle of a crowded airport. "I don't see how it effects me one way or the other. I've never known what it's like to have my soulmate anyway. What's another life?"   
  
"A waste," Kian scoffed. His face twisted into a sneer. "You might have known what it's like to have a soulmate if you'd ever looked for yours instead of trying to steal mine."   
  
The smile that spread across Kieran's was mocking. "Did you ever wonder why you can't feel your soulmate without me, brother dear?" he asked softly. Kian reared back, suddenly uncertain. Kieran pressed his advantage. "Did you ever stop to ask yourself why I knew where she was as often as you did? How I knew where to find her? How I got close enough to kill her?"  
  
"The twin link," Kian answered dubiously. "You could feel her through me."   
  
"Really?" Kieran speculated. "Was that really what you thought? Or did you realize that she and I shared the same unequivocal link that twined your souls so tight not even destiny could shatter it?"   
  
Kian took another step back, his eyes wide. His head shook, denying the truth and refuting his brother's words. It simply wasn't possible. No one had two soulmates. No one found themselves caught between two others who shared their mind and shared their fate. Two soulmates. Twins.   
  
And horribly, everything was now startlingly clear. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him. "You killed your soulmate!" he hissed, disgust flooding over his features. No, not disgust. Horror. Horror at the pain he'd felt, at the pain Cameron had felt, and at what must have swamped Kieran as her heart beat its final pulse. He stumbled back, ignoring the irritated gasp of trampled tourists.   
  
"And yours," Kieran acknowledged. He shrugged. "You wanted to save her, didn't you?" He rose from the plastic seat and raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you can deal with Giacinta and this wonderful revelation all in one night?"  
  
"He doesn't have a choice," Jessa snapped. "After that revolting display of mistimed honesty, we'll be lucky if Cameron's still alive." The whole thing had happened so quickly, she hadn't been able to stop it. But now, watching hurt and uncertainty blossom in Kian's eyes, she wished she'd staked Kieran long ago.   
  
The hell with him. Cameron never would have known what she was missing. It was too damned bad she did now.   
  
Kieran smiled charmingly, reveling in his twin's staggering shock. "What are we waiting for?"  
  
Jessa was glad she didn't have a stake.   
  



	16. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 16

"Don't you think this is a little public?" Kieran questioned, amusement tingeing his voice with shadows and dreams, brushing like a sigh over Jessa's sensitive skin.   
  
It was beautiful and it was seductive, and no matter how hard Jessa searched for an excuse, she could not fathom why Cameron had sent them both away. How she'd had the strength. The twins were violent and they were cruel, but they could also be as tender as a mother cradling her newborn babe and as gentle as the sun's summer kiss. They could be cold and they could be kind, but never at the same time.   
  
Now their cruelty shone as brightly as a blazing candle, facing each other with furious promises flashing between them.  
  
Kian, while he'd decided to ignore Kieran's admission for the time being, clearly saw no reason to forgive and forget -- or to pretend civility. Why bother? His brother knew exactly how he felt and returned the favor. His last comment was only a wrath-inducing reminder.  
  
Violet eyes flared, angry red flecks flickering at the edges of Kian's pupils. "I offered the use of my apartment," he reminded, concentrating on each steadily drawn breath as if to soothe his fickle temper. "You said it smelled like a Christmas tree and you'd rather be outside because smog improves your mood. Now we're outside and you're complaining that it's too public. I know you weren't born this difficult, so you must be trying--"  
  
"Do you two always fight this much?" Jessa interrupted coolly. "No one told me I would be babysitting when I signed up for this. I would have brought you both pacifiers."  
  
Kieran shrugged, a wicked gleam lighting his sensual violet eyes. "It might've kept him quiet," he responded, ignoring the insult blithely.  
  
Looking ready to strangle his twin, Kian retorted, "And perhaps you would have choked on it and done us all a favor. Give me your hand."  
  
His twin looked positively scandalized. "Absolutely not. Do I look flaming?"  
  
"As a blowtorch," Jessa snapped. "Will you two stop it?"  
  
Kieran turned an incredulous and beautifully sculpted visage in her direction. "We're in the middle of a crowded street and my esteemed brother wants to hold hands. Just because Cameron is both my soulmate and his soulmate doesn't mean I should engage in--"  
  
"Don't say it," Kian cut him off, gritting his teeth. "Either give me your damned hand or I'll find some other way of getting your cooperation, one that is considerably less pleasant. You know we won't find Cameron any other way."   
  
Mouth curved in a depraved smile, Kieran shook his tousled head. "You're giving Giacinta too much credit, mon frère. If there's anything she lacks besides intelligence, it's creativity. Keeping this in mind, if you were her, where would you be hiding our soulmate?"  
  
Kian considered his question a moment, realization dawning slowly. "At her house," he predicted slowly, suddenly cursing himself for his lack of foresight.   
  
Sending a sly look in Jessa's direction, Kieran informed her, "And by now you must realize that Kian didn't come to find me because of the bond, but because I was the twin gifted with a functioning brain."  
  
"Where is Giacinta's house?" Jessa asked quickly, before the two could begin sparring yet again.   
  
Sparing her only a brief glance, incensed, Kian regarded his twin with narrow eyes. Kieran stared back innocently and met his anger with an unapologetic smile. A smile designed to heighten Kian's rage. "It's not far."  
  
"I did come in this direction for a reason," Kieran inserted dryly. "I don't get my thrills from wandering around Boston in circles unless I've a purpose."   
  
"Torture, maiming, mass murder," Kian agreed, sneering. He turned away from them, rolling his eyes, and moved down the street with the fluid grace of a predator. "We've all got our hobbies."  
  
Jessa sprinted after him, Kieran trailing behind, hard-pressed to relinquish his obstinacy. "Stop baiting each other," she commanded, once she'd caught up. Her long blond hair flowed behind her like a silken banner wafting in a gentle breeze. "You only have to put up with each other until we find Cameron. Then you can go for each other's throats, for all I care."   
  
She was beginning to understand why Cameron might not want them around. They were like two sleek wolves fighting over choice territory, only their barbs were words instead of snapping teeth.   
  
"It's not his throat I'm interested in," Kieran answered angelically, materializing beside her. "Just Cameron's."  
  
The hot spark jumping in Kian's eyes promised danger. "You won't touch her--"  
  
"You can't stop me," Kieran said succinctly. "Be careful or you might be making promises you can't keep." He slipped an arm carefully around Jessa's waist, drawing her away from his brother. "We're here, and if we get any closer, we might as well ring the doorbell. I personally see no reason to give her warning."  
  
"Do you think she's home?" Kian asked dubiously, eyeing the shadows streaming through the gleaming glass. Please, he pleaded silently, let this be easy. Let me have my soulmate for one lifetime.   
  
"She's watching us." His eyes flickered briefly to a curtained window on the right of the street, then he turned his back to the seemingly empty house.  
  
Kian nodded. "I didn't really want to hold your hand, you know," he defended himself suddenly, almost as an afterthought.   
  
Kieran smiled thinly. "Incest and homosexuality. If only you'd been born in ancient Greece." A sympathetic sigh, drawn out and exaggerated for maximum effect.   
  
Flushing a wrathful crimson, Kian opened his mouth to bite out an angry retort, but his words wavered and died as Jessa said, "That's enough. Are you trying to delay until Cameron dies, Kieran?"  
  
Coldness etched itself over his face like a wall of ice, pity and passion locked deep inside the frigid confines, hidden and hunted and destroyed. He nodded carelessly.   
  
She shot him an incredulous look from beneath lowered lashes. The mask you wear is exquisitely wrought and so full of conviction, she told him silently. But if I look closely enough, I can see the cracks in your steel-plated armor. Your pain is brighter than a supernova and almost more blinding.   
  
Your heartless act does not fool me. You care far more than you let on.  
  
And from the darkening of his bruised violet eyes and the shy droop of his thick lashes, he knew she saw through his façade.   
  
Then he sighed. "You know damned well I'm not. If you're going to blame someone about the delay, blame him." He paused, his features wearing an emotion that was decidedly wrathful. "Does anyone have a plan or do you just barge in and get yourselves staked?" The curve of his mouth was suddenly sulky and his words laced with the poisonous bite of sarcasm.  
  
Kian's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "As long as you're going first, I'm all for the second option."   
  
Kieran's answering smile stretched thin and taut. "Remember, brother dear, that if I die, you come with me. Then where would you be?"  
  
Uncertainty played on his twin's face, so strong that every emotion except the niggling jet of fear was wiped away, and Jessa almost wished she was a witch so she could seal Kieran's mouth shut. "If he's following you, probably in hell." He cocked an eyebrow, unruffled. Suppressing the urge to hit him, she asked, "Do you know the layout of the house?"  
  
"Hell's too cold," he retorted, looking distinctly uncomfortable despite the mischievous twinkle that lit his vivid eyes, "and it doesn't matter if I know the layout. I'm not going inside."   
  
Jessa was the only one surprised at this statement.  
  
Moodily Kian reminded her, "You did say he didn't have to help us save her. Only find her. He's fulfilled his promise; now he's going to be difficult."  
  
His twin didn't bother to deny it. He simply shrugged, his lanky body shifting like mercury under intense heat. It was a shame his attitude wasn't as malleable. He flashed Jessa a charming smile.  
  
"Let's make a deal," she said, thoroughly unaffected by either his charm or his stubbornness. "If you help us save her, I'll help you kill Giacinta."  
  
Both twins stared at her in shock, as if the idea had never occurred to them. And in truth, it probably hadn't. But whereas Kieran simply continued to look aghast at this offer, Kian started to laugh. "Well, as Shakespeare said in Hamlet, 'all that lives must die,' and she's been living on borrowed time for several hundred years now."   
  
Several seconds passed before Kieran's mouth slackened and closed thoughtfully, his lips pursed in consideration. "On one condition," he said finally. And from the determined set of his features, she knew she would have to agree or he would walk away.  
  
"What condition?" she asked.  
  
His voice was flat. "Nobody hurts Morgan."  
  
A lengthy pause. One where Kian raised an eyebrow, amused, and where Jessa cocked her head to the side like a parrot, confused. "Who is Morgan?"  
  
"Giacinta's 'pet,'" Kian explained. "A four-year-old child that she made into a vampire." He shot a quick and troubled glance at his brother. "But, Kieran, she's... warped."   
  
"No, she's not," his brother said, sounding for all the world like he believed it. He ran a hand through the thick wave of burgundy hair, agitated, and gnawed on his lower lip with wicked ivory fangs.   
  
Jessa took pity on him. "No one will touch her," she promised. "Now, are we ready? How are we going to get inside?"  
  
"I can distract her so you can enter through the back. If I keep her occupied, she probably won't notice," Kieran suggested. The offer was surprisingly helpful and selfless, murmured while he ducked his head self-consciously.   
  
Jessa nodded, shifting a few steps away in agitation. "Just keep her alive until we know where Cam is and what state she's in. That way we know how painful to make her death."   
  
Kieran, however, didn't move. "There is one other thing." His smile had suddenly turned fierce and oddly anticipatory.   
  
"And what's that?" Kian asked. He expected his twin to throw out some impossible ultimatum or something equally annoying.   
  
If possible, Kieran's smile became even fiercer. "Giacinta's been watching us act like brothers should. Sarcasm and verbal nastiness aside, we seem to be getting along. If I walk in there now, she's going to be suspicious."  
  
Kian threw up his hands in disgust, rolling his eyes and heaving an appalled sigh. "And how are we supposed to fix that?"  
  
Kieran punched him.   
  
  
***  
  
  
The gauzy blue curtain fell, dropping the room into more shadows.   
  
As usual, the twins were fighting. Quelle surprise. She only hoped they didn't kill each other before she got to have her fun. From what she could tell, Kian had a vicious right hook. Either that or Kieran's nose was a lot more pliable than she would have expected.   
  
"Ironic, isn't it?" she asked, turning from the window. She remained bathed in shadows, the light streaming at her back and casting cerulean streaks over her tumbling black hair. Those same lustrous silhouettes sifted sinuously over her lithe form. She paused to assure herself that Cameron was paying attention.  
  
Cameron glared, but the constricting gag swallowed any words she might have said. She'd given up struggling once she realized how it made Giacinta flush with pleasure. So she simply lay there, bound and gagged and helpless.   
  
The curve of Giacinta's mouth gleamed through the twilight obscurity. "Almost strikingly so. Those poor, estranged twins fighting over pathetic little you, only to lose to me -- who may not be your twin by birth, but in looks we might as well be."  
  
A derisive and muffled rush of air sounded from beneath the gag. As if to say, please, take your smirking psychosis and inflict it elsewhere, on others who deserve the stabbing pain of your threats. Others who have reason to care about your insecurities and no time to dwell on the imminent death of those they love in spite of themselves. And as if to say, no matter what you do, no matter how much you destroy...  
  
You can never win.   
  
~ Take off the gag and we'll talk about irony ~ she suggested sweetly, her mental voice sugary and yet annoyingly weak. She shouldn't be able to establish any sort of telepathic link, but considering the amount of blood Giacinta had taken from her, she was reasonably certain she would hear her anyway.   
  
The vampire moved closer, one eyebrow arching, perfectly sculpted and perfectly reflected in Cameron's angry face. ~ Why would I do something like that when I can hear you perfectly well as you are? ~  
  
~ Because I'm choking on my own blood ~ Cameron answered, her body spasming and her throat muscles heaving against the dry white cloth as if to echo the truth of those words.   
  
Giacinta immediately inferred what those words meant. If she continued to choke, she would die, meaning that all of Giacinta's plans would be ruined. Scowling, she ripped the gag out of her mouth and frowned, noting the vast quantity of blood that had been wasted on the once pristine white cloth. She hadn't been lying.   
  
"Happy now?" she asked icily.   
  
A crimson bead trailed from Cameron's mouth to the arch of her chin, soaking into the midnight fall of her hair. She turned her head and spit blood into the intricately patterned carpet. Her voice, raspy from disuse, held only hostility. "Thrilled. Let's do it again."  
  
Giacinta grimaced. "If you insist. I couldn't possibly do any more damage to the carpets at this point, so I might as well make you bleed." She shrugged and glided to an elegant oak console graced with a pallid marble top. The knife's blade glistened in the scant light.   
  
"I'm not afraid of you," Cameron declared flatly. Her eyes burned into Giacinta's own and she didn't flinch even when Giacinta shifted to give her ankle a vicious twist. "You can carve me up as many times as you want, but in the end, you're going to die."  
  
Giacinta laughed, the sound rising like the squeal of nails against a new chalkboard. "So are you, ma chère," she pointed out almost gleefully.   
  
Her expression didn't change or lose even a fraction of its serenity. "I'm used to it, remember? And unlike you, I'll get another chance."   
  
The vampire's face suddenly contorted with fury. "You might think that," she said coldly, "but I'm working on making sure that doesn't happen, either. I'll find a way to break the pattern if it's the last thing I do. There must be some way to keep Old Souls from coming back."  
  
"It won't matter," Cameron answered softly. Something fierce caught and held in her eyes. A sort of luminous resolution, glimmering like a distant beacon to those who had lost all hope.   
  
But Cameron was the only one who had anything to hope for or anything to pray for. Giacinta had nothing else to lose, while Cameron had nothing else to gain. And therein lay a world of difference.   
  
"Whatever you do to us, you won't win." The glow in her eyes augmented, spreading over the planes of her face and bringing a dignified flush to her cheeks. Her whole body lighting with an inner sort of peace.   
  
The indignant passion and elated arrogance on Giacinta's face wavered, the fervent fires banked quickly into smoldering ashes. Uncertainty washing like a flash flood.   
  
A quick, gasping breath. "Whatever happens to me is only secondary. The twins and I are connected in a way that you cannot even imagine."   
  
The fires leapt again, anger burning like wildfire in every nuance of her expression and in every contained wince Cameron's words induced. And in that tragic animosity, promises flared unspoken, but they did not touch her or stop that unfailing truth.   
  
"Whatever spells you cast and whatever charms you make cannot stop true love or break our entwined destinies. We are one heart and one soul, even if we are not one body." She paused a split second, triumph flashing over her features as she noted Giacinta's expression.   
  
Raging now, uncontrolled and irrepressible. Those black eyes snapped with crackling white wrath. Her mouth twisted with menacing emotions her lips could not express. Hands clenching until the nails dug into her pliant skin. Tense, like a panther ready to spring.   
  
Those finals words, softly spoken, so full of audacity and truth...  
  
"You have already lost."   
  
Giacinta snarled, her emotions exploding into dangerous motion, and she leapt forward with the knife clutched firmly between her fingers. The resolve in Cameron's face did not fade nor did her eyes drop from the vampire's, even as she closed that short and falsely comforting distance.   
  
The cold blade pressed roughly against the base of her throat. Giacinta shifted her weight, threatening, only iron control keeping the pressure from slicing through skin and vein. "I always win," she growled.   
  
The pressure lessened and for one blissful second, no sound and no pain and no weapons threatened her. For one confused second, she was free... then the blade sliced down sharply.   
  
Cameron bit brutally into her lower lip to keep from screaming. Waiting for her chance --  
  
Bracing a hand against the icy metal table, Giacinta leaned over her to place an identical cut across her other arm. Quickly, without rational thought behind the motion, Cameron wrapped her fingers around the vampire's wrist, nails digging into the soft flesh.   
  
Giacinta gasped. "What --?"   
  
Cameron smiled grimly and tightened her grip, ripping her nails into supple skin.   
  
The world erupted around them.   
  
  



	17. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 17

It was strikingly and stunningly quiet.   
  
Twilight had fallen without warning; in one instant, the sun's last fading rays simply disappeared, unrepentant and sweepingly absolute. Cameron pulled her limbs easily from the once restraining bonds, blinking disorientation from unfocused eyes. She gingerly moved aching and bruised muscles. In the silence, her gasp of pain sounded as loudly as a scream.   
  
A few murmured words made her eyesight sharpen until she could see the room in vivid detail. And what she saw was destruction. Furniture lay splintered about the previously elegant room, turned on a twisted side or heaped in disjointed pieces. Shattered glass scattered among those splinters, her newly improved vision causing them to glitter unmistakably, and turned the carpet into a diamond encrusted masterpiece. One wall now bore a gaping hole.   
  
She slipped carefully off the table and into the eerie stillness. The glass crunched softly beneath her shoes. It was quiet, so quiet, and shock made that ever more evident. The soft rasp of her clothing against the table echoed through the room.   
  
She was free.   
  
Elation bubbled inside her. Maybe she could find the twins, make them see reason... Hope filtered through her and she suddenly wondered why she was still standing in the middle of this demolished room. Shaking her head, she stepped lightly forward.  
  
~ Run ~  
  
The voice came from nowhere. Its cold, icy tones held warning and just a touch of anger that tore through her mind, cleaving through guarded secrets and newborn hopes. And instead, she tensed, her muscles immobilizing.   
  
A hand gripped her neck abruptly.   
  
She spun into action, kicking, clawing, twisting... Those actions caused nothing but spinning pain. Slowly, she subsided and her body numbed into hopeless defeat. She forced herself to relax.   
  
A harsh cough rattled behind her. "I hope you didn't think you had won," Giacinta choked out, her body shaking slightly with the effort. She jerked Cameron around to face her. "Next time someone gives you a friendly warning, perhaps you should take it." A tight and brutal smile. "You might have gotten away."   
  
Cameron tried to suppress a gasp as Giacinta dragged her mercilessly back to the table, her hands tangled in long black hair. Strands ripping from her scalp and clinging to the vampire's pale white fingers. Her knees buckled. She fell, catching herself almost as an afterthought.  
  
"Get up."   
  
The voice was emotionless and frigid, just like the voice that had invaded her mind only seconds ago. Had it only been seconds? She shivered involuntarily. Frightening how time could pass so quickly and yet seem to drag so much. How one lifetime could flash by as quickly as lightening or waver through eternity. Mutely, she shook her head.   
  
Giacinta shrugged, turning away. Cameron braced herself. Giacinta's body swiveled and her hand hit Cameron's bruised face with a resounding slap. Despite having prepared herself, her body collapsed to the floor.   
  
"I said, 'get up.'"   
  
Gritting her teeth, she made a valiant effort, but her body would not respond. She propped herself up, trying to push off the floor, but her limbs folded beneath her weight. She glared at the vampire from beneath a fall of tangled ebony hair. "I can't."  
  
"You mean that you won't," Giacinta corrected coldly. She stepped lightly around Cameron's fallen body, leaning against an unsteady dresser, once beautifully carved and finished. Now only a charred mess.   
  
Her black, black eyes raked over the girl who had ruined her life without even realizing it. Who had doomed her from the moment of her birth. Who at this very moment was doing nothing to redeem herself, even as she clung to the belief that she was innocent of any wrongdoing.   
  
How much she hated her! It bubbled caustically in her veins like hot oil, consuming her emotions and leaving her nothing but an empty shell. Abandoned, except for the hatred that gave her only one reason for living. Unworthy, except as a reflection of Cameron, who cared too much instead of not at all.   
  
Giacinta was well aware of her faults. They were etched on her mind in glittering detail, crowding into one another and taunting her with each painful reminder that she was not enough. She couldn't possibly miss any of them, because for one terrifying instant when Cameron injured her, she was thrown into hell.  
  
And oddly, hell was a mirror.   
  
No burning fires. No depthless black pits. No unbearable heat or ragged pain. Only a smooth, glassy surface with her own face staring back at her and a voice -- that voice like poisoned honey -- murmuring at her back, stabbing through her more painfully than a thousand knives.   
  
You have already lost.   
  
She wanted to scream or rage or wail her anger. She wanted to hurt something or someone as much as she herself hurt. She wanted to shatter that flawless glass until it lay destroyed at her feet, where it could no longer hurt her.   
  
No matter what she did to that hollow reflection, it stared back at her impassively, except for that small smirk of triumph glittering in its eyes. No matter how she tried to hurt her image, so that it reflected not only her likeness, but also her feelings, it only whispered back truths she would rather not hear. It only grew louder as she clawed at it, trying to mar its acrid candor...  
  
But she could not destroy that mirror, could not destroy what she was, and so she would destroy Cameron instead.   
  
With that realization, hell had disappeared.   
  
"If you get up, I might make it easier on you." Her empty black eyes swept over Cameron's huddled form. "But then again, maybe not. Destroying you never was enough. It only made me want more."  
  
"Please don't let me keep you, then," Cameron said brightly. "I'm sure there are plenty more innocent people to slaughter out there."  
  
Giacinta's features twisted into amusement. She knew Cameron was only bluffing. "How generous of you, really."   
  
"I wouldn't want you to waste all your talents on me," she responded sarcastically. She dragged her body a little further from Giacinta's, her legs still refusing to work properly. Her fingers curled convulsively around a thick splinter of wood, the only protection she could offer herself right now.   
  
Giacinta shrugged. "I don't intend to waste them at all." A secretive smile flitted over her full mouth. "But you'll appreciate that more once your dear soulmates join us, which might happen if they ever stop that incessant bickering."  
  
"I'll grow old and die while they're still in that same spot on the street," Cameron sneered. Her blue eyes flamed with what looked like triumph, but was only fear. "And then you won't get your revenge."  
  
Giacinta's smile turned nasty and she leaned forward slightly with glee. "Didn't you say you'd get another chance? If this fails, I will, too." A lengthy pause as they contemplated one another, then Giacinta looked away. "I still get to have my fun. You'll suffer."  
  
"Yeah," Cameron agreed dryly, "all that blood was just a preliminary trial to see if it was worth it, right?"  
  
Giacinta stood abruptly. She sidled around the mess at her feet, passing Cameron as she did so. She noticed the makeshift stake the witch was trying so hard to hide. Instead of kicking it out of her hand, she crushed the heel of her foot down on Cameron's already damaged wrist, smiling as she screamed in pain.   
  
"It's always worth it."   
  
Cameron grabbed her wrist sulkily, trying to crush the bones back into place. The action only made her wrist hurt more and so she let go. Stupid bitch...   
  
"Now, now -- be nice," Giacinta said, with a stunning smile. "You're not holding a weapon anymore."   
  
"Yeah, because I can't," Cameron snapped, scowling. She wished she had a vampire's rapid healing powers or even the strength to heal. A spell. Anything so that she had a fighting chance against this...   
  
Giacinta kicked her suddenly. "Don't you listen?" she asked, her own face twisting into a glower. "If you're not going to think nice thoughts, don't think at all."  
  
"I can say it out loud if you prefer," Cameron offered, instead of subsiding, her glare deepening to dangerous proportions. "You're going to hear it either way, so I might as well."  
  
"Or," the vampire suggested brightly, "I can make sure you can't think about anything at all. Except the pain, of course." Then, so quickly Cameron barely saw her move, the blade she'd been carrying stabbing roughly into Cameron's side, while crimson blood spurted dangerously.   
  
  
***  
  
  
Kian's head snapped back with the sickening sound of flesh striking against flesh and shattering bones. He ducked another blow instinctively. "Are we almost finished?" he inquired cordially, twisting out of the way. "Because this is starting to hurt."  
  
Instead of responding, Kieran smashed his fist into his twin's identical violet eye, hoping that in a few minutes, the skin would match as well. The bruise might not last very long, but at least it gave him some satisfaction. "Almost," he answered cheerfully, following his response with a swift blow to his twin's stomach.   
  
Kian fought the urge to vomit. Through rapidly clearing vision, he saw his twin straighten and step back, the smirk on his face growing ever wider. Everything turned vaguely red around the edges of his vision. He lunged forward and hit Kieran so hard that his twin found himself heaped inelegantly on the broken concrete sidewalk.   
  
"It's finished now," he snapped, and turned away.   
  
Kieran's eyes flared like pulsing shadows, danger brimming in their depths, and he scrambled to his feet only long enough to tackle his twin to the ground. Kian's jaw cracked against the unyielding concrete. "I don't think so." One knee pressed Kian flat and immobile, while one hand felt blindly for anything potentially sharp. The other held him locked firmly in place.   
  
Jessa sighed. She was definitely going to check the contract for a bonus clause. This was not in her job description and she did get hazard pay. If this didn't count as a hazard, she wasn't sure what did.   
  
She stepped forward to grip the back of Kieran's shirt firmly. He half-heartedly tried to throw her off, but his attention was focused on his twin's raging temper, evident even though his cheek pressed firmly into the ground. It only took a moment and quite a bit of strength to tug him away.   
  
"Now apologize to your brother," she said in her most maternal voice. Kieran kicked him instead. She tightened her grip until his air supply was almost nonexistent. "I said, 'apologize.'"   
  
His reply was sullenly sarcastic. "Do I have to sit in the corner if I don't?"   
  
Quick and troubled resignation washed over her features. "I'm done making idle threats," she answered quietly. "If keeping your soulmate alive isn't incentive enough, nothing I can say will make you cooperate." She continued to talk despite the stricken expression flashing on his face. "Are you nearly finished trying to kill each other?"  
  
"For now," Kieran conceded, after a moment's pause. Jessa released her grip on his shirt, but her eyes warned him not to provoke her further.   
  
Kian echoed his sentiments quietly. He brushed bits of gravel from his skin, then pushed himself into a sitting position. A moment later he was standing. "We should get out of here soon," he suggested in Jessa's general direction, "while Giacinta still believes the act."   
  
But then sharp pain rocketed through his body. He clutched blindly at his head, vaguely aware that his twin mirrored his movements, gasping as the pain transferred itself to his side. Almost as if he'd been stabbed deeply.   
  
Jessa caught him as he stumbled backwards. "Are you okay?" she asked anxiously, but the pain was too overwhelming for him to realize that she'd spoken.   
  
Kieran shook his head savagely, unaware that she had asked the question of Kian. And really, did it matter? "It's Cameron," he managed through gritted teeth. He glanced up briefly, toward the curtained window, then his eyes dropped and his mouth drooped. "Giacinta isn't paying attention to us anymore."  
  
Her arm still circling Kian's waist, Jessa guided him toward the house. Her heart went out to Kieran, who suffered alone -- who chose to suffer alone -- but she could only help one of them through the pain. Something told her Kieran wouldn't let her help anyway, and so he stumbled slowly behind in silence.   
  
It only took seconds to cross the dark and deserted street, but it seemed like an eternity; the steps leading to the antique stained glass door a mountain to be climbed. The eaves of the porch cast eerie shadows where the fluorescent porch light did not reach, emphasizing the haggard planes of each twin's face.   
  
Swallowing her pity, she disentangled herself from Kian's heavy weight, reaching for the ornate door handle. It refused to turn so much as an inch. She jiggled it, frowning, but nothing happened.   
  
Kieran sighed heavily and edged her out of the way. "She's got a witch helping her," he explained. "Only certain people can even get into the house. Or rather, open the door."   
  
Jessa watched him expectantly. "Would you happen to be one of them?"  
  
"I lived here for two months. What do you think?" He wrenched the door handle open so violently that it squealed in protest. Swinging the thick oak slab inward, the empty hallway opened cavernously before them. She inched forward cautiously.   
  
One of the twins grabbed her arm, halting her progress. Kian shook his head and continued to hold her back. "She probably has traps rigged all over the place," he murmured. "If one of us goes first, nothing should explode."  
  
Softly, Kieran added, "Or cave in or crash on top of us or--"   
  
"I get the point," she interrupted, a weak smile gracing her mouth. She gripped the back of his sleekly muscled torso, fighting not to notice the feel of his firm flesh beneath her hands. He's Cameron's, she reminded herself adamantly.   
  
A corner of his mouth curled seductively. She would have sworn one finger trailed lightly down her arm, but it happened too quickly and she could only guess what it had been. His wicked smile enhanced her suspicions.   
  
She removed her hands hastily. "After you."   
  
The smirk faded as he contemplated the deathly silent entrance. If he were Giacinta, what was the first thing he would do as a precautionary measure? The answer was simple. He would put up barriers to sound an alert when someone entered the house. He wouldn't set them off, because they would have been programmed to accept his presence. Kian and Jessa were a different story...   
  
He had a sudden flash of insight. "Here, grab my hand," he ordered briefly, peering into that immense cavern for any sign of movement. He thrust his arm into their near vicinity so that they could do as he asked.   
  
Kian stared at the appendage scornfully. "I thought you weren't flaming," he challenged, his voice nasty.   
  
A corner of Kieran's mouth lifted, his eyes reflecting lights none of them should have been able to see. "I make an exception for you, brother dear," he answered and his voice was mockingly licentious. Jessa, however, stared silently, clearly questioning his command without voicing any of her curiosity. Kieran's expression became properly abashed and he answered reluctantly. "By touching me, you become an extension of me and not a separate person. It's a way to work around her magic."   
  
Jessa's laugh sounded clear and rich in the silence. "I don't think you were lying when you said you were gifted with a functioning brain. The testosterone made me wonder at first."  
  
Sighing heavily and shaking his head, Kieran reached out to capture Jessa's hand, leaving Kian to hold her other. Despite his taunting comments, he was no more eager for physical contact with his twin. When they were connected, he stepped cautiously over the threshold.   
  
The air remained pleasantly still.   
  
He breathed a quick sigh of relief. Switching his attention to the hallway in front of them, he contemplated the looming staircase. A second later he was moving, bounding up the stairs while dragging the other two behind. Jessa had to jog to keep up, but they were quickly standing at the top of the stairs.   
  
"Which way now?" she asked as silently as possible, her voice only a shade above a whisper, so low that even a vampire would have trouble hearing her.   
  
To her surprise, it was Kian who answered her question. "I think she's in a room to the right... and maybe a little bit above?"  
  
The uncertainty in his voice was mirrored in the unease gracing his twin's identical lanky frame. "I've never seen another staircase in the house. She has an attic, maybe?"  
  
Jessa shrugged. "You two are the experts. I'm sure if you go in the direction you feel her, you'll find where it is."  
  
Kian's eyes narrowed in heated exasperation. "If you can get us through the ceiling, I'd be more than happy to go in the direction I can feel her. Until then, why don't we look for a staircase?"  
  
"We don't need a staircase," Kieran answered absently, leading them toward what looked to be a solid colonial cupboard. The crystal figures inside sparkled brightly. He bent around one side, his head nearly touching the floor, then he leaned to inspect the other. A small sound of triumph escaped from deep in his throat.   
  
Jessa watched him hopefully. "Did you find something?" she questioned.   
  
He nodded briefly before applying light pressure to a knob on the left side. The cabinet swung open. He turned his head, nodding toward another stairwell hidden behind the antique furniture piece. They both acknowledged his direction in turn.   
  
The stairs wound a precariously twisting path from the place where they stood, longer than a mountain path leading from the very base where rocky terrain met flourishing grass. After a moment's hesitation, Kieran pushed his way past the polished and ancient furniture and up the stairs.   
  
Their height had been deceptive. It took only a few minutes to find the apex of that staircase as the passage became ever narrower and just as steep. And at this highest point stood a door.   
  
He glanced back quickly at Jessa and his twin as if questioning the wisdom of trying the handle. Both nodded, urging him on. He extended his arm slowly, fingers closing gently around the worn handle.   
  
Heat seared painfully into his hand and the knob refused to turn.   
  
  
  



	18. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 18

The door was sealed with magic.   
  
Each time one of the twins tried to close his fingers around the handle, cold metal seared deeply into the palm of his hand. Kian was scowling while he stared at the mechanism suspiciously, almost as if he expected it to swallow him whole where he stood. Kieran merely contemplated the heavy oak and stroked his fingers thoughtfully along the edge of his jaw.   
  
Jessa was just as stumped as the twins were. Nothing she -- or they -- could think of would make it open. "We're wasting time," she muttered angrily, turning away. She spun to a halt, immediately on guard.   
  
A witch stared back at her calmly, her violet eyes holding just a touch of cynicism and a hint of distrust. "Who are you?"   
  
"Who are you?" Jessa countered coolly, her own expression wary.  
  
The witch's reply was mocking. "The Tooth Fairy. Anything you'd like to donate?" Something fierce lit her eyes, dancing merrily, almost as if she wanted to fight.   
  
Jessa bared her sharp, slender fangs, only too happy to oblige her. "Smile and we'll find out."   
  
"Enough," Kieran said crisply. "She's trying to distract you, Jessa. Trying to buy Giacinta time." He fingered the glinting silver knife he'd taken from his pocket lovingly, his gaze even and cruel.   
  
Outrage washed over the witch's face, stunning and defiant, and she was angrily unaware of the threat in Kieran's every movement. "Trying to help Giacinta?" she asked coldly. "The only help I would give that bitch is into an early grave."   
  
Jessa looked at her swiftly. "Then why are you trying to stop us?"   
  
The witch looked suddenly uncertain. "I thought you were here to help her."  
  
"You're lying," Kieran said tonelessly, pushing past Jessa until he stood on the step above the witch. "If you can get this far, you've been helping her all along." One hand wrapped around her slender throat. His other hand raised that wickedly sharp knife.  
  
Rebellion shone hotly on her face. "I am not helping her." Something hard slammed into Kieran's stomach, but he didn't loosen his grip. "If you don't let me go, she's going to kill Cameron!"   
  
The desperation in her voice must have finally convinced him, because he removed his hand, although not before a few moments of suspicious hesitation. "If you're lying," he said as a final warning, "not a drop of blood will be left in your body when I'm done with you."   
  
She sniffed haughtily, absently rubbing a hand over her aching throat. "If I were lying, I wouldn't blame you." She coughed lightly, glaring through thick copper lashes, her hand lingering over bruised flesh.   
  
He stepped back and gave her room to breathe, but his measuring gaze never left her face.   
  
Kian glanced back and forth between them, watching as emotions scorched hauntingly across both their faces. "Do you know why we can't get in?" he asked the witch quietly. "Or at least how we can get it?"   
  
With one last belligerent look at Kieran, she turned her attention to his twin. "She made me put a spell on the door." A quick pause and a hastily drawn breath, during which she cleared her rasping throat. "I was coming upstairs to remove it." She hesitated slightly, then continued, "A witch called Erin sent me to protect her, since I owed Giacinta a debt anyway."   
  
Suspicion wavered across Kieran's face. "What debt?"  
  
"She saved my brother's life," she answered coolly, dislike for him as natural as breathing, "and Cameron promised to help me get it back."  
  
Jessa's reevaluation of the girl was swift and encompassing. "We're ready whenever you are."   
  
"My name is Calista," she said grimly, motioning Kian aside. Kieran stood stubbornly where he was. "Stand back, unless you want to become the world's largest shish kabob. That door isn't going to stay in one piece."  
  
Kieran reluctantly moved.  
  
Orange witch fire sprang to life in her cupped hands, jumping and crackling like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.   
  
It exploded from her palms in a rush of hot air.  
  
  
***  
  
  
"While I have your attention," Giacinta started, the knife flicking to deepen already painful cuts, "I should let you know I'm going to kill you."   
  
"Please, forgive my surprise," Cameron retorted. She bit back a gasp of pain. "And here I thought you were just helping me augment my pain tolerance."  
  
"Don't try to be cute," the vampire replied, her voice cold and hollow and somehow sharp. Empty black eyes contemplated the bloody mess in front of her. She shifted the knife to her left hand and fingered the ornate handle thoughtfully. "I can promise it will only make your death slower."  
  
Cameron grimaced as Giacinta prodded at a bruise on her forearm, but everything ached anyway, so she barely felt it. "You really should work on your motivational techniques. I heard there's a great class at the University. Just remember: positive is always better."  
  
"Positivity is relative, rather like normalcy." Giacinta dropped her hand, turning away from her. She walked slowly to the window and her hand hovered at the edge of the curtain, but then she paused, turning back.  
  
"I used to be normal once," she said softly, her voice wistful. "I used to have hopes and dreams and--" She smiled. "I was in love once."   
  
"Forgive me for my tenacity," Cameron snapped, staring hard at the ceiling, "but did he wake up one day and realize he'd be safer dating a rabid elephant?"   
  
The pain numbed if she focused on something other than where she was or what was occurring. If she pretended she wasn't slowly dying -- not from loss of blood, not from pain, but from Giacinta's determination to destroy -- and that this was simply a bad trip or an awful nightmare, breathing was a little easier.   
  
So she concentrated on the swirling lines of plaster, searching for a pattern, and let her mind wand far from this suffocating room.  
  
The sun set and died in Giacinta's eyes, leaving them empty, without that brief spark of life that for one second almost made her look human. But Cameron didn't see this. "No, he woke up and realized that if he didn't give himself, if he kept himself locked inside, any sort of love was worthless, and so he was worthless as well." The bone deep chill crept back into the depths of those fathomless black pools.   
  
Cameron couldn't think of anything to say and wasn't sure she wanted to comment.  
  
"Aren't you even curious to know what happened to him?" Giacinta prodded impatiently. "Whether he's still festering away somewhere?"  
  
Cameron suddenly concluded it might be a good idea to keep her talking and to buy herself just a little more time. She nodded slowly.  
  
The lethal smile stretching across the vampire's face was not quite sane. "I killed him. He was just an empty shell and not of much use."  
  
The hunger that lurked in the stark lines of her face was terrifying.   
  
"He was my soulmate," she admitted, "but I wanted something more." Her smile flashed again, quick and secretive. "I wanted excitement instead of coldness; hope instead of emptiness. Kian gave me that."   
  
"It's a shame he didn't give you a terminal disease instead."  
  
"No, just terminal hatred," Giacinta acknowledged, "but then, perhaps even that was wasted on you. I know everything else has been."  
  
Cameron's expression turned skeptical. "Everything else? I'm not sure what that includes. The torture, perhaps? Or was it the repeated homicide?"  
  
Giacinta sighed, fidgeting unhappily with nothing to occupy her hands. "You are the most disturbingly ungrateful waste of humanity I have ever met. I tried to warn you."  
  
"Perhaps you should look into taking some classes at the university. Your comprehension of human psychology is sorely lacking." Cameron finally turned her head to meet the vampire's eyes. "You tried to warn me? Was that before or after you tried to convince me what bastards the twins are?"  
  
"Oh, they are that," Giacinta answered. "I shouldn't have had to convince you."   
  
Cameron smiled. "Don't worry. You didn't, at least not about the twins." She let that statement hang suspended in the air, dangling between them unclaimed.   
  
Sneering, Giacinta turned back to the window, this time lifting the curtain slowly so she could observe the twins fighting on the street.   
  
Except they weren't there.   
  
She whirled around. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" she hissed. She picked a porcelain figure from the decorative table standing beside her -- standing precariously on two legs, no less -- which was miraculously untouched. For about two seconds.   
  
It shattered against the wall with a sharp crack.   
  
"It was a distraction, wasn't it?" Her piercing black eyes were furious. "You knew they were coming and you were trying to keep me occupied!" Her normally low voice gained fury quickly, the tones rising to a shriek.   
  
Cameron reminded herself to stay calm. "What are you talking about?" she asked, stalling. It wasn't hard to guess that the twins were no longer outside.   
  
"You know what I'm talking about," she snapped. She strode over to where Cameron was tied helplessly to a destroyed but still heavy dresser. Her breathing came harsh and rapid as she stared down at the witch's placid features. Then she kicked her.   
  
Doubling over in pain -- as best as she could with her hands strapped over her head -- Cameron gasped, "What was that for?"  
  
But Giacinta wasn't paying attention to her. Her eyes were focused on a gleaming hint of silver across the room. She retraced her steps purposefully, wrapping her fingers almost lovingly over the handle. Walking back, almost humbly now, she smiled. "Well, this just hastens the process a bit."   
  
Relatively certain that she didn't want to know, Cameron didn't bother to ask what that process was. She remained quiet as Giacinta kicked her way through the rubble in the room to where she lay.   
  
The vampire leaned cautiously over her, not certain what to expect. Her hands and her movements were no less careful when she began sawing at the rope binding Cameron's wrists. Not the ones that connected them, but the ones that kept her fastened to the leg of the heavy Colonial dresser.   
  
"Are you crazy?" Cameron's voice rose despite her conscious effort to remain calm. The vampire jerked her roughly to her feet.   
  
Giacinta slapped her. "Shut up!" She cocked her head, listening intently for some noise or some warning. No sound echoed through the silence.   
  
The vampire relaxed. "If you make one sound," she warned, the whisper so soft that Cameron strained to hear, "I will make sure you watch both of your soulmates die before I hurt you. And I might show you mercy when I'm done."  
  
Cameron wisely kept her mouth shut.   
  
Refusing to loosen her guard, Giacinta stepped behind her, the knife rising threateningly to her throat. She yanked her backwards, away from the door, away from where she could be taken by surprise.   
  
Still the dead silence held, broken not even by the sound of their anticipatory breathing. Cameron was sure she should be able to hear the pounding of her pulse against the slick silver blade, beating as loudly as a nuclear explosion. Sluggish. Waiting. Terrified.   
  
The door crashed inward.   
  
Jessa and the twins stood framed in that doorway, their expressions furious and cold. It was Kian who stepped forward first, but then Kieran exploded past him, only a blur moving surreally fast in the grotesque silence.   
  
He was only ten feet away when Giacinta dug the knife into Cameron's flesh so hard she screamed. The twins skidded to a halt at the same time, almost as if two images had been paused in the exact same frame. "Stop," she commanded, although it wasn't necessary. Although the twins had already done so. "Don't make me kill her," she murmured softly. The threat in her voice was hard to miss.   
  
Kian's response came coolly through the quiet. "We're not going to make you do anything."   
  
"And you can't blame what you do on us," Kieran added. Then he glared, dangerous and irrepressible. "Nor can you blame us for what we do in retaliation."  
  
Jessa supported them silently, a shadow hovering behind the twins, simply watching and waiting for her chance.   
  
"You're assuming you get a chance to retaliate," Giacinta noted. She smiled without humor. "Sorry, boys, but the rules have changed. You can walk away now and you can live or you can stay and die. I can't make you play, but I can make sure that you play by the rules. Oh, and don't move or I'll kill her."  
  
Then Kieran did the last thing any of them expected -- he took a step forward.   
  
Giacinta turned suddenly wary, tightening her grip and pressing the knife more firmly against Cameron's soft white throat, so shocked that she forgot to carry out her threat. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.  
  
His deep violet eyes sparkled, warm flecks shifting and sliding secretively. "I have something I want to share with you," he murmured, and came just a little closer.   
  
Her voice lowered, just a shade more seductive. "I've got something I'd like to share as well."   
  
Cameron bucked, intentionally elbowing her hard in the stomach. She could suffer through the pain, through the bleeding, through the taunting... but she would be damned if Giacinta would seduce her soulmate in front of her. Some things were just not polite, mortal enemy or no.   
  
The vampire grimaced, but she did not loosen her grip -- which both knew was not why the witch had suddenly started fighting back. Giacinta took immense pleasure in yanking a tuft of silky black hair from the back of Cameron's scalp. Holding her head at a fiercely painful angle, she exposed that pale throat. "Are you sure you don't want a bite?"  
  
And to his horror, Kieran felt his canines lengthen painfully.   
  
He forced his thoughts away from that smooth, pulsing skin, drawing on inner strength to focus on the vampire's carefully blank face. "Maybe later," he answered, his voice neutral.   
  
His expression molded to match. "Now," he said, "about the thing I'd like to share--"  
  
"Don't bother. I'm not interested."  
  
Cracks slipped into that glossy, sleek mask and threatened to destroy. "You're never interested, Giacinta dear, which is why we never worked in the first place." He smiled, but it looked more like a threat. "Now be a good girl and keep your mouth shut."  
  
Giacinta only returned his smile and dug the cold silver blade into Cameron's throat. "Perhaps you should remember who exactly has the upper hand here," she advised dryly. "It's not exactly smart on your part, when your lovely little soulmate is already bleeding from the pressure."   
  
"Oh, is it the pressure that causes that? I thought it was the knife."   
  
"You learn something new everyday," Kian added, from his safe position at the other end of the room. Or maybe not so safe. Kieran had hurriedly and silently commanded him to keep Jessa as far from the actual fray as he possibly could -- and if it wasn't possible, then he was to protect her at all costs.   
  
He hadn't thought, however, that he would be protecting himself from her or her from herself. That made things just a little bit harder.   
  
The look Kieran bestowed on him was scathing and he suddenly realized he wasn't helping the situation. He opened his mouth to atone for this mistake, but his twin cut him off. "You have the right to remain silent, Kian," he purred. "Why don't you take advantage of it?"  
  
Sulking, Kian subsided.  
  
"Now let her go, 'Cinta, and we can talk about this reasonably." Kieran's voice was soft and convincing, the sensual undertones rubbing roughly over Cameron's senses. She wondered how Giacinta could resist that persuasive purr pulling and pushing toward the depths of her soul.   
  
And then she had her answer. "You don't fool me, cher. Tell your lies and weave your illusions, but remember how easily I can see through you."   
  
She shoved Cameron to the floor behind her, stepping back lightly on her hair to keep her from moving. Kieran sprang toward her. She caught him easily, shifting his weight so that his body fell into her, but did not cause them to fall.   
  
His eyes met hers, startled, questions swimming within those violet depths, and tried to pull back. She shook her head lightly and gripped the soft material of his shirt even tighter. And something sparkled in the depths of those eyes, something promising and something sad. He was bewildered at the emotions he saw there.  
  
She leaned forward, her mouth raising to catch his lips. Just before that first brush of flesh against flesh, there was a loud crash. "'Cinta?" a loud voice wailed from the doorway.   
  
Kieran blinked, as if released from a sorcerer's spell. "Talk about ruining the moment," he quipped, horrified at what had almost happened.   
  
The vampire's eyes narrowed and Cameron whimpered as she slid her foot, yanking the hair. "Not now, Morgan," she answered. Her voice was calm. "Go to bed."  
  
"But--" Morgan protested. Giacinta could almost hear the tears welling in her eyes.   
  
"No, she said firmly. "Bed."  
  
Soft footsteps padded away, but Giacinta didn't look back to make sure Morgan had followed orders. All her attention was concentrated on the twin before her. She smiled and it was cruel.   
  
She swayed toward him again, her black eyes sucking him in. He tried to look away. He tried to think of Cameron, think of anything other than what was in front of him. But her eyes drew him like two giant black holes and then he felt her lips brush softly against his.   
  
The kiss was poignant, or would have been if they hadn't stopped caring for each other long ago. And instead it became a symbol, but of what, Kieran wasn't sure. He pulled back when she blinked, those hypnotic eyes losing whatever draw they'd held. Furious, he jerked his head away.  
  
Giacinta brushed the pad of her thumb lightly over that full lower lip, absently, as though she didn't notice that anger. "Cher," she said, "you know I'll always care about you."   
  
Then the stake slid smoothly into his heart.   
  
  
  
  
8  
  
  



	19. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 19

Almost done... Thank all of you for your wonderful comments!  
  
Aquilla- Merci bien. :) I think your questions (the last ones, at least) will be answered in this part. And you're right... He *has* been through as much as Kian, but it was most of his own making, so I can't feel too bad for him. I'm glad you're enjoying this, and I've already thanked Kiana for the free advertising, lol.   
  
Eleyne- I'm glad you like it! I love to write and don't know what I would do if I didn't do it, so at least I know it's worthwhile.   
  
Moreta- Behave yourself! I've told you repeatedly not to gloat, dearie. Oh, well. I hope you're *still* catching up on that sleep you missed last night (at least at the time I'm posting). I don't know how you managed it.   
  
In_sane- I'm sorry. ::looks guilty:: I've written this as fast as possible, so I *tried* not to make you wait too long. I hope this was fast enough. :)  
  
Mandy- Thanks! I hope you're still enjoying it now that it's past Part 3!  
  
  
  
Part 19  
  
No one moved for one single, stunned second, then Kieran's body slumped forward. Mad confusion ensued as limbs tangled and jumbled into a heap of bodies. There was a shriek, there was a thud, and then there was silence.   
  
It lasted only a moment. Cameron, her voice muffled from beneath the pile of bodies, screeched, "Get off me, you stupid bitch!"  
  
Kian could only think how inelegant she sounded. He watched her push from beneath Kieran's heavy weight, shoving Giacinta away, her features flushed and angry. His twin was slack against the heavy carpet. And Kian waited. Waited to feel agony pierce through his own heart, waited to feel Death creep icy hands along his spine.   
  
Kieran looked dead.   
  
His skin had that waxy look bodies had in funeral homes, without the rinse of blood beneath their skin. Heavy lashes formed spiky shadows on his cheeks. His mouth was white, colorless, and the lips parted just slightly as if he had breathed his last.   
  
Oddly, his body was intact. They had all seen other vampires staked. Watched as their bodies collapsed into themselves and their skin turned leathery, until finally, their appearance reflected their age.   
  
Which, he thought, still deep in shock, should make Kieran an unattractive pile of dust, not an attractive and realistic wax sculpture.   
  
A muffled sob sounded behind him. He spun to see Cameron with wide, blank eyes and her hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Her head moved back and forth slowly as if to deny what she saw. As if to refute the truth of her loss.   
  
Giacinta threw back her head and cackled. The sound was not quite sane, rippling through the air like poison and raising goose bumps on Cameron's skin. It snapped her back to reality. She met Kian's eyes and desperately pleaded with him to back away while her expression hardened and became resolute.   
  
"Checkmate," Giacinta said, still grinning madly. She tilted her head and eyed Kieran's body scornfully. "I always told him he was no good at chess."   
  
Kian simply stared.   
  
"Better to be bad at chess than at poker," Jessa said coolly from behind him. Her words spun through his head wildly, ripping and clawing at each other as they tried to form a coherent sentence but failed miserably. "The stakes are a lot less deadly."  
  
"And speaking of stakes," Cameron added, finally finding her voice, "do you have a preference?"  
  
Uncertainty flashing. "Yes," she responded, recovering quickly. "I prefer it when they're in someone else." And then her face turned crafty. "Like buried in your soulmate."  
  
Only a flicker of drowning desperation flared across Cameron's features. "Been there, done that," she said, her voice calm except for that hint of hopelessness. "I take it originality isn't your specialty."   
  
"And following through isn't yours," Giacinta purred. "Or was your spell supposed to fail?" The knife appeared in her hands again and Kian had to wonder if she'd ever dropped it.   
  
Cameron smiled. "Who said it did?"  
  
For one long and gratifying second, Giacinta actually looked uncertain. She whipped her head back and forth between Cameron and Kian, her black eyes filled with suspicion. But when she noticed the blankness suffusing Kian's face, she relaxed. "Very funny," she snapped, but she didn't look amused at all.   
  
Instead, desperation was creeping over her face as she realized that she was outnumbered by the three people in front of her and that she no longer had Cameron at her mercy. She was missing the one advantage she had when the twins had crashed her little party.   
  
But she knew better than to act like she was scared or to show that she had nothing else up her sleeve. The last thing she planned to do was lose. She would find a way out and live to play another day.   
  
And so, she did the only thing she could. She bluffed.   
  
"Now, then. Shall we work on getting rid of the rest of this lovely little trio?"  
  
Jessa flashed a glare in her general direction, but never really took her eyes away or returned her gaze. Her body balanced easily on one leg while the other rested lightly behind, ready to snap up and kick Giacinta wherever was closest. At this point, as long as Giacinta got hurt, Jessa would be happy. "Why don't you go to hell?" she returned sweetly.   
  
"What? And make this easy?" She smiled, twirling the stake idly between two hands. "I'll pass." She slithered closer to Kian, whose wary eyes met hers calmly before he stepped carefully backwards. "I have better things to do with my time."  
  
"You won't soon." So much confidence swam in her voice that, for the second time, uncertainty broke over Giacinta's features. And now it was Jessa's turn to step forward, using her body to shield a shattered Cameron. "You're not going to make it through all three of us before you die."  
  
"All four of us," Remy corrected from the doorway. He leaned casually against the door jamb, fingering a lethal silver knife with sleek ash inlaid along the blade. He inspected it idly while it glinted beautifully between his palms. "Hello, chère," he said, nodding at Giacinta. "I thought I warned you what would happen if you didn't give up this disastrous little game of yours."   
  
Giacinta brushed that off with a violent wave of her hand. "You should have killed me while you had the chance," she pointed out. "You should have known better than to think I would conform to what you wanted. Or that I would have listened to what you ordered."  
  
Jessa's mouth had fallen open and now she closed it abruptly. "How do you two--"   
  
"Chance," Remy interrupted smoothly. "I was following our dear Cameron one night and happened to come upon Giacinta with a rather wicked looking shotgun. And sawed-off, no less." He shook his head mournfully, slipping one finger down the glinting blade of the knife. "You'd think people would get a little more creative after so many attempts at murder, but it just doesn't happen sometimes."  
  
The blond vampire blinked. "Wait a second. You caught her trying to kill Cameron... and you let her live?"   
  
He shook his head and stepped into the room. "She didn't admit anything and I didn't have any proof. She could have been taking a perfectly innocent walk. You *know* how--"  
  
"Right," Jessa interrupted quickly, before he could say anything about the Guardiens in Cameron's presence. "With a sawed-off shotgun. I don't know how that could be anything *but* innocent."  
  
They glared at each other, chocolate eyes clashing with hazel.   
  
All Cameron could think was that it wouldn't matter, couldn't matter, because Kieran was dead and it was over. All of it. The fighting and the constant death and he was gone. Gone. The word echoed hollowly in her head, like the peal of a bronze gong in the foggy morning sunlight. But it wasn't morning and the sun would never shine again because it couldn't. Oh, those burning rays would stream, touching the earth with their warm kiss, but they would never hold the same allure or the same promise. Too much had been taken too far away. It couldn't matter.  
  
Suddenly she wanted to weep for what she had lost. For what they all had lost in those centuries of feuding and of murder.   
  
And then she realized she was angry.   
  
The emotion pulsed hotly beneath her skin. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to remember to breathe under the crimson wash of fury that threatened to overwhelm her. It covered her like a blanket, smothering, until all she could feel was hatred pushing through her veins, raging and burning scarlet. Her eyes snapped open.  
  
Her remaining soulmate was standing in front of that murderess, protected only by Jessa and Remy, who did not know what he would do. Cameron could feel it radiating from him like a sonic boom. Move, she told him silently.  
  
"Regardless," he said instead, his expression cold, so cold next to her flaring hate, "she's still here and she just killed my brother. I would appreciate if you would get out of the way so I can avenge him properly."   
  
No, Cameron answered silently. She will only kill you and my dreams with you. Move.  
  
Giacinta sniffed, not bothering to move away or take any action to protect herself. She stood there almost contemptuously, as if not one of them was a threat. "Avenge him, why?" she questioned. "There was certainly no love lost between the two of you."  
  
Don't listen to her, she commanded silently. She will only feed you lies and hatred. Move.  
  
"No," Kian agreed, his voice cold, "but there was more than enough blood."  
  
Move, she whispered, unsure if the thought was voiced or only in her head. He flinched when she thought it, almost as if he was surprised to hear her in his head, in his dear, sweet mind that had been ripped so brutally away from the other half of his soul. And without her, he heard only silence.  
  
He stepped back.   
  
Cameron stepped forward.   
  
But a loud and drawn-out wail shattered the moment. "'Cinta!"   
  
All heads swiveled to stare, surprised, at the entrance to the room.   
  
To Cameron, Jessa, and Remy, Morgan made quite a sight. Blond hair draping messily over her shoulders, tousled from sleep, and her eyes rimmed with tears. Her nightgown looked like it had been made for a small princess. It was covered in so many ruffles and so much lace that Cameron had to wonder how the child managed to stay upright.   
  
Now she scrubbed a hand over that tear-streaked face, sniffling loudly. "I want Kieran," she sulked.   
  
Cameron and Jessa just stared.   
  
"Kieran's sleeping," Giacinta replied calmly, keeping her eyes trained on those in front of her. She didn't bother to look down at the child who looked ready to throw a fit loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. Possibly even those in neighboring states.   
  
Her gamin face grew even more sullen. "Wake him up," she whined. She stamped her foot insistently and her lower lip trembled. She inched forward to clutch at Giancinta's hand, staring hard at the body on the floor. "That's not Kieran."   
  
Giacinta rolled her eyes. "Yes, it is, Morgan. How many times have I told you to go to bed?"  
  
"Where is Kieran?" Morgan shrieked in response. She wrenched violently on her foster mother's arm, dissolving into heartwrenching sobs. Giacinta slapped her.  
  
The tears stopped abruptly.  
  
"Morgan," Kian said carefully, holding out his hand. "Come here."   
  
And surprisingly, Morgan listened. She let go of Giacinta's sleeve and walked over to slip her hand into his, the red mark on her cheek glowing vividly against her pale skin. It covered almost the entire side of her face and showed no sign of fading. "You look like Kieran," she whispered, her eyes shining with trust. "You were here before."  
  
He glanced briefly down at her and then he smiled. He nodded, squeezing her hand just a little tighter for one short second. Then his gaze snapped sharply to Giacinta's face.  
  
Jessa had been watching the interaction silently, but now she spoke up, her voice as cool as ever. "Will someone please explain to me why no one has killed her yet?" she demanded. "I would have--"  
  
"No," Cameron said, "she's right. That would make it too easy." You don't have a stake, her brain reminded her helpfully. Find something nice and sharp before you start running your mouth. But she knew better than to stop talking. "Killing her would be too easy. It's the coward's way out." She paused, still looking, but then she added informatively, "Hence the reason it's Giacinta's favorite game."  
  
She nodded at Remy carefully, who had been so silent she'd almost forgotten he was there. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but then he shrugged. Straightening up, he flipped Cameron the knife, which she caught daintily by the blade, snagging it from midair with two fingers of her left hand. She suspected her right wrist was broken from when Giacinta had stepped on it.   
  
She was not going to let that stop her.   
  
Something else did instead.   
  
Just as she slipped past her soulmate, he reached out, catching her arm. She tried to shake him off, but his grip only tightened. And something about the way he was holding her, something about the way he hadn't said anything, just made this odd gasping noise, made her turn back to look.   
  
His pupils were wide and dilated, the warm violet almost completely obscured by that endless black. She grabbed him under the elbow as she felt his legs collapse beneath him until she was the only one supporting both of them. "Kian--"   
  
A quick gasp was his only response. He shuddered once, then pain shot through him, sharp and stinging, bending him backwards and forcing his body up, as though he was being lifted by his chest. "Cameron," he whispered, and then his body collapsed, falling lifeless to the ground.   
  
Cameron cried out and fell to her knees, sobbing as though her heart had splintered into a thousand pieces. Not both, she pleaded silently. Dear Goddess, please, not both. She reached one hand out to touch Kian's face, that mobile face, which in death was far too silent. A hand brushing across his full lower lip, hoping to feel a slight exhalation of breath against her fingertip, however unlikely she knew that hope might be. Instead those violet eyes stared blankly, cool flecks the color of the midmorning sky dotting the dusk-drenched irises. In death, not swirling with emotion or passion. In death, only flat.   
  
Crystal tears slipped down her face and tangled in his lashes as she wept, tracing shimmering paths along the sharp plane of his cheek.   
  
And when she turned to his twin, an identical path found its way across his own.   
  
Jessa slipped an arm around her shoulders, offering comfort silently as Cameron wept over the twins' identical bodies and protecting her from the assault Jessa knew was coming, even if her friend had forgotten anything but her loss. Morgan buried her face in Cameron's shoulder.   
  
"Well, well," Giacinta said, just a little stunned by her good fortune, "it looks like his assumptions were right after all."  
  
"Not twins," Cameron whispered, remembering her earlier words to Kian. She had told him they were not twins and indeed, they were not. They were One.   
  
The dark-haired vampire smirked. "Of course, they are. Or should I say, 'were?'" She laughed cruelly. "It doesn't really matter, does it? They're both dead. Unless..." Her eyes narrowed and her full lips twisted into a scowl. Striding purposefully across the room, she stopped in front of Kian's body, pushing Morgan away.   
  
Morgan stumbled back, tears still flooding out of her eyes and trickling down her face. She sniffled pathetically, then ran forward to clutch at Giacinta's leg.   
  
"Stop it, Morgan," she snapped absently, pushing the child behind her and out of the way. She nudged Kian's body over with the toe of her canvas shoe, miraculously still white and unmarred by scarlet blood. His body flopped on its back with a thud.   
  
Morgan's eyes watered as she moved insistently closer to her adopted mother and the body at her feet. "'Cinta," she implored unhappily, "why isn't Kieran moving?" She tugged at Giacinta's sleeve, trying desperately to get her attention.   
  
She must have finally lost her temper, because she yanked her shirt out of Morgan's grasp and snapped, "Because he's dead, you ungrateful little wretch. Now go to bed!"  
  
Head hanging dejectedly, she did let go. She sniffled once, tears streaming down her face. If nothing else, the child had loved him. She dropped down to kneel over his body while Giacinta stepped back and watched warily.   
  
Morgan contemplated him carefully, looking far older than her four years, and for just a second, Cameron expected him to sit up, grinning and proclaiming it a grand joke. But then she remembered the sharp stake embedded in his chest and felt that expectation slip and slide away.   
  
"How did he die?" she asked calmly, that childish voice filled with wisdom Cameron could not even comprehend. Her tiny hand reached out, brushing over his eyelids gently, and closed his eyes, since he could no longer do it himself.   
  
Jessa answered her, so quickly and easily that Morgan knew it was the truth. "Giacinta staked him," she answered, her voice quiet.   
  
Her eyes still flew to meet her foster mother's, and she read the truth she'd been hoping to avoid in her face, no matter what words she used to deny it. "I loved him," she said with the simplicity that only a four-year-old has. She reached to pull the stake from his heart. With one sharp tug, it was free. She laid it on the floor next to him, then she climbed to her feet slowly, using one of the multitude of ruffles to scrape the tears from her face, and she looked at Giacinta. Betrayal shone from her eyes.   
  
Still sniffling, she trudged to where Giacinta stood warily. "Can I have a hug before I go to bed?" she asked sadly. Her mouth drooped.   
  
Giacinta nodded, opening her arms to oblige her. Morgan ducked into them, her head nestling briefly against her shoulder as fresh tears poured down her face. She pulled back slightly, her sweet child's face swollen with hurt and sadness, and then she leaned up to place a tear-stained kiss on Giacinta's cheek. "Goodnight, mama," she whispered.   
  
And while shock flowed over Giacinta's face at being called "mama," Morgan staked her with the same stake she driven through Kieran's heart. 


	20. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 20

Only one more chapter to go (which is nearly finished, despite some massive procrastination) and this will all be over. I obviously would have uploaded this quite some time ago if FF.net had been working so that I could... But, ça va, n'est-ce pas? It's going up now, which is the important thing.   
  
Aquilla - Thank you muchly. :) Again, questions will be answered in this part, more in the one after this, though, which *should* have been up a long time ago. I *did* try religiously to see if the uploading function was working, if that works in my favor at all. So unless the site crashes/gets fixed again, you should have it all by the end of the week.   
  
Eleyne- I tried! I can promise the one after this won't be so long in coming, since it *is* almost done. I really am so glad you like it, and thank you so much for letting me know. (The encouragement works wonders for making me write).   
  
Mal- She rather did, didn't she? It's funny how little sadness or compassion I feel for killing her. Usually when I kill characters (although this does depend on how they die), I feel awful and sick and everything else. I guess she just didn't deserve it. :) Thank you!   
  
Amy- Not the end. Still this chapter and the one after it to go, *then* it'll be done. I'm so glad you're enjoying it, and I *promise* you'll find out what happens to them soon!   
  
Water Soul - Thank you. :) Morgan staking 'Cinta was one of those things that had been planned since before I even knew what happened in the middle. You know those blank diaries you can get? That last line (or a variation of it) is actually written on the fifth page of a completely filled notebook. I thought it was appropriate. :) I'm glad you enjoyed the story so far; it's wonderful to hear it, because I can't seem to write for myself, and if no one else was reading, I would have nothing to do, and all these ideas, but no motivation!   
  
  
Part 20   
  
It was nothing like when the twins had been staked.   
  
A hideous sound emitted from Giacinta's mouth, like the horrendous cry of the banshee on a midsummer night. She gasped, and then she fell to her knees. Her skin grew dark and leathery and wrinkles formed like cracking pavement. A moment later, she breathed her last, flopping face first on the floor. And then the skin shrank in on itself, her hair floating from her scalp to flutter on the carpet, until she resembled an eons-old mummy.   
  
Morgan stared down at her, showing no sign of remorse and no sign of guilt. Her four-year-old face was clear.   
  
Cameron had to wonder what emotions and thoughts lurked behind that angelic façade. Had she felt nothing for the vampire who created her? Or had something else triggered this?   
  
Morgan turned to stare into her eyes, her face shining with wisdom and traquility far beyond her years. "She killed Kieran," she said simply. Then she sniffled, full blown sobs threatening.   
  
"It looks like the weather forecast was right for once," Remy murmured, materializing beside her. "Overcast skies and a chance of scattered showers dead ahead."   
  
"Do you think you could be a little more sensitive?" Jessa hissed. She stepped away from the two of them, moving closer to Morgan, hesitating because she didn't know how to comfort her and didn't know what reaction her attempt would elicit.   
  
Even Cameron glared at him. "And quieter?"   
  
"I can be anything you want me to be, mes chères." Remy's voice held no repentance and no sympathy, but more than a little suggestion.   
  
Those gray clouds of sadness rolled over Cameron and tears sprang to her eyes, falling slowly like rain just moments before a violent storm. "Can you be Kian and Kieran both?" she whispered.   
  
Remorse shot through him. "No, chère," he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand, "but we know how you feel and we will always be here for you."   
  
A tired sigh. "I don't know if that will be enough."   
  
"It has to be."   
  
And as true as that was, Cameron didn't want to hear it. She already knew Remy and Jessa would stay by her; she didn't need them to tell her yet again. What she wanted them to say was that the twins were fine. That it had all been a mistake. Even that she was only dreaming. She wanted them to lie, to pretend it was yesterday, the sun rising bright and sparkling diamond-like over the bay, and that the world was right again.   
  
But no matter how many times she blinked, she was still stuck in that parallel world where the twins laid still and silent and so, so beautiful in death.   
  
Heavy lashes casting shadows over sharp and pale cheekbones. Bloodless lips parted slightly. That gorgeous burgundy color dull where light fell, and even duller where it did not. Those violet eyes closed from when Morgan had been kind, while Death was not.   
  
Death took, and did not care for those it hurt in its wake.   
  
Death hurt, and let its laughter roll over the living in a capricious harmony of sound.   
  
Death laughed, and did not notice those who lay half dead behind it.   
  
She was half-dead, but it did not matter.   
  
She realized she was crying, but the tears fell unencumbered over her cheeks, and she could not force them to stop, or to slow, or even to feel something other than this drenching pain. Their deaths were final, while hers was not. If she had died, she would have had another chance at happiness. But this left her shattered, because they would not come back. Gone, with no more chances.   
  
It was so easy to wish that they hadn't died, but so hard to accept that they had. Odd, wasn't it, that their deaths seemed surreal, dream-like, because she didn't want it to happen. And then she did imagine this was just a nightmare. If it were only a nightmare, she would wake up. She would wake up and they would still be alive, and maybe she would be hunted, but at least she would have hope.   
  
Now she had nothing at all.   
  
She swallowed the pained lump rising in her throat. She was still kneeling, so close to them, so that if she reached out, she could feel the smooth marble of their skin and touch the sultry fall of their lashes. For thousand year old vampires, they looked remarkably like they were sleeping.   
  
The thought did nothing to halt her tears.   
  
Reaching out, she smoothed a hand over the rough wool of Kieran's sweater, pushing the heavy folds into oblivion. Into oblivion, much like the twins. Her hand convulsed, curling in that thick wool, clutching at a hope and a dream that had disappeared. Her other hand slipped over the flat plane of Kian's stomach. It rested lightly on his ribcage, loathe to let go, to stop touching them, in fear that they would simply disappear.   
  
They looked remarkably like they were sleeping.   
  
She let go of his sweater slowly. The material bunched around his heart, the gaping hole nearly invisible. She needed to see it, needed to remember it was there. She couldn't expect him to wake up, even though she wanted it so desperately. She pressed the wrinkles flat, but could not stop her fingers from digging into his supple flesh, clutching at his absent strength.   
  
"Ow!" she gasped, feeling something sharp press into her finger. She snatched her hand away, bringing it closer to her face. Blood was flowing freely now, dripping sickeningly over Kieran's pale white skin. The ruby drops skimmed down like rain splattered against the window pane.   
  
A piece of wood was lodged deep in her finger. The fragment must have broken when Morgan pulled the stake from his body. The tears were pouring from her eyes now, the pain only secondary, her vision clouded by tears. She reared back, sudden hysteria washing through her, and tried to climb to her feet.   
  
Her body wouldn't obey her, and all she managed to do was lose her balance. She caught herself on Kian's body, both hands bracing herself against his chest, the blood smearing over his neat shirt.   
  
And all she could notice was that they looked remarkably like they were sleeping.   
  
She removed her hands from his body hastily, scooting back as if she might catch a disease from staying too close. Once she'd put what she considered a safe distance between them, she stopped, and simply looked.   
  
Slowly, she stopped sniffling, staring down at them while her body and her mind went numb. They laid next to each other, arms draped limply and their heads lolling to one side. And eventually, her expression grew blank, devoid of all emotion, simply locked in a frightening mask of nothingness.   
  
Reality ebbed in like morning tide, and she was stuck on an islet with no way of escaping. The cold water was washing up, submerging her, and she was drowning, drowing under that terrifying wave of feeling --   
  
"Cameron!" The snapping edge of desperation in Jessa's voice pulled her from her trance. She lifted wide, horrified eyes to meet Jess,' the sky blue spinning with luminous paler specks. A moment later, her pupils nearly swallowed the iris.   
  
Jessa realized with a start that Cameron was sinking into startled shock. She strode to where she knelt, then she slapped her. Barely a second later, Cameron blinked, and Jessa was relieved to see sanity now clouding those eyes.   
  
Now Cameron really did manage to get to her feet, scrambling to her feet and nearly falling into Remy.   
  
"They're both--"   
  
"We know, chère," he said gently and gathered her in his arms.   
  
She buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him. He stroked her hair soothingly and whispered comfort somewhere over her head, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. His other arm wrapped tight around her.   
  
He threw one last piteous glance over at the twins' bodies...   
  
And froze in shock.   
  
"Chère," he whispered urgently as he began to shake her, his touch gentle, yet requesting her attention.   
  
She clung tighter.   
  
"Chère," he repeated, shaking her a little more violently. His tone now commanded her to respond.   
  
Her head twisted back and forth, and she refused to unbury her face from his shoulder.   
  
"Cameron Aderyn," he snapped, stepping away. She nearly crumbled to her knees without his body there to support her.   
  
She raised her tear-stained face, one hand rising to brush the dampness from her cheek. "What?" she cried, desolation nearly overwhelming. "Just let me suffer in peace!"   
  
"That is an oxymoron if I have *ever* heard one," he responded dryly. Then he smiled gently. "You can mourn all you want, ma chère, but first, I think you should look behind you."   
  
She spun without consciously deciding to do so, her body carrying her around before she had time to form a thought or protest, and she stared hard at the twins, searching for whatever sign had given Remy so much hope.   
  
If she had turned away a second earlier, she would have missed it. As it was, she blinked twice and rubbed her fingers over her eyes before realization dawned.   
  
Kian's body shuddered on the floor in front of her... and so did Kieran's.   
  
It took her a moment to remember that sometimes humans did that after dying, and another to remember that the twins weren't human.   
  
"But... " She let her voice trail off at Jessa's disgusted glare. "It probably doesn't mean anything," she sighed. She whirled wearily toward the door, wanting only to be far from this pain and the evidence of her loss.   
  
Remy shrugged, gesturing nonchalantly, and surprisingly, agreed with her. "Of course, you're probably right. It means /rien/. That strange violet light is a *perfectly* normal occurence when someone dies."   
  
The sarcasm annoyed her, but sudden intuition told her he was telling the truth. Peeking over at him, she saw that he was both serious and exasperated. "You're not lying, are you?" she asked in a small voice, suddenly filled with doubtful, leaping hope.   
  
That hope lit up her face, turning her eyes more luminous and bringing a rose flush to her cheeks. Her back straightened. Oh, if only he wasn't lying... She was almost afraid to turn around and see what was happening, afraid that it would stop and she would be left here alone, with only their corpses to keep her company. That Jessa and Remy would never allow that didn't even cross her mind.   
  
She was still debating whether she should turn to look when Remy rolled his eyes and spun her around himself. He hadn't been lying. Definitely not. But she didn't understand what *was* happening either. She started to take a step forward until Remy stopped her.   
  
"No," he warned, shock and pleasure drifting through his voice like billowing clouds, "don't interfere."   
  
Their eyes met, quickly, briefly, and just a touch of understanding passed between them. "I can't interfere," she murmured. "I am part of them and they are part of me. It wouldn't be interference. Only joining."   
  
The emotions in Remy's eyes dimmed slightly. "Still, I would prefer that you stay here, where you are safe." Before Cameron could open her mouth to argue with him, as he knew she would, he added, "Enough tragedy has happened today. Let's not add to it."   
  
"Please," Jessa added, a hint of pleading in her voice.   
  
Angrily, Cameron sat back to watch, wishing she could do something, anything, other than sit here helplessly while...   
  
While the twins faded out of existence.   
  
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she finally stopped and looked, really *looked*, at what was going on in front of her. The twins had stopped convulsing and now they simply glowed. The pure violet light, so like the flame color of their eyes, hovered over them, swirling like enchanted fairy mists. It swept around their bodies mysteriously.   
  
That unholy violet light pulsed stronger now, and oddly, it was curling and tripping over their limbs, weaving drunkenly and gleaming brightly. Cameron was suddenly transported back to fifth grade and Disney magic, sitting in the auditorium and watching the rain forest sparkle with magic. Except this wasn't the rain forest; it was a hidden room above the attic, in the middle of a huge city, with three dead bodies on the floor and no blood.   
  
She was sure the police department would *love* to find out about this.   
  
"Leave them an anonymous tip," Remy suggested quietly. The sarcasm was still present, yet somehow tempered, as if he was trying not to be too obnoxious. As though he realized just how deeply the blade of his words cut and how scarred she would become.   
  
But, of course, that didn't matter, because nothing could scar worse than this, and because she had nothing left to lose. Any barbs he spoke fell harmlessly in that black pit of regret, piled precariously on so many others. She saw those vivid lights sizzling around the twins, and she was struck by how painful it was to remember her loss, as though she would ever be able to forget.   
  
With a crackle, the lights stopped spinning. Hovering madly over the twins in a macabre dance and dipping casually to brush against their bodies.   
  
"Goddess," Jessa murmured, staring at them scornfully, "I feel like I'm starring in a very cheesy, B-grade movie."   
  
Cameron glared, but her attention was only distracted for a moment.   
  
Ant then that light was rising, twisting and melding into a shattering stream of pure violet, and rising, still rising through those battered bodies. It poured upward like a river flowing backward and fused scorchingly, jetting through the ceiling, though leaving nary a mark.   
  
The lustrous illumination grew ever brighter, so bright that Cameron had to shield her eyes. Then that light exploded around them like an imploding star in the dark night sky. A tiny fraction remained, swelling and gathering into a blinding ball of fire. Without warning, it shot down in the violet flame color of their eyes, into their bodies, where it buried itself deep into their hearts.   
  
Kian stirred.   
  
Her eyes were on Kieran, so she didn't see this. All she knew was that Remy grabbed her arm, squeezing desperately in excitement or horror, and that it hurt. She turned her head to snap at him, but then she noticed Kian, and realized that he had sat up.   
  
Her breath caught, stuck in her throat like so many words she wanted to say but couldn't. "Kian?" she managed finally, too filled with hope to remember this was *not* possible.   
  
He blinked, those gorgeously framed violet eyes focusing slowly into puzzlement. "Who?"   
  
Cameron burst into a fresh round of tears.   
  
  
***


	21. Bleeding Hearts - Chapter 21

It's done (though it's been done for about a week now)! I don't think I can express my happiness or excitment over this, especially since I don't have to look at it anymore. I hope y'all (Yes, I live in West Virigina now, and this has become a staple of my vocabulary) enjoyed it. Or if you didn't, that you would share that reason, because it would help me fantastically.   
  
Kendal   
  
  
Water Soul -- I like Kieran better (he's so much more *fun*), too, but Kian's got his good qualities as well. He's so much sweeter than Kieran is, for example. I actually thought about taking that excerpt out (though I'm glad I left it in), because it sounded awful before I fixed it. It works now, though, so it's okay. Thank you for the feedback! It makes my day.   
  
Eleyne -- The end has essentially been written since before most of the story, or at least the part where their soul shoots back down into one of the bodies. I'd not worked out who or how or any of that until just recently, but it was there. I try really hard not to be predictable in any of my stories, because it makes like exciting and keeps *me* interested, otherwise I wouldn't be able to write. I'm so glad you're enjoying it and I hope you like the end. :)   
  
Part 21   
  
"My name is Kieran," he said quietly, and Cameron was suddenly back on the street, staring at the boy who looked so like Christian Redfern, but couldn't be. Couldn't be because that had been Kian, and because the one who spoke was Kian as well.   
  
This was far too surreal.   
  
She shook her head, gestured resolutely for Remy to shut up, and marched toward the door. "This isn't happening," she said in response to Remy's furious protest. "None of this is happening. In fact, tonight simply does not exist. I am going to go home, crawl into bed, and when I wake up in the morning, I'll laugh myself silly over this ridiculous dream." She paused briefly at the entrance. "Good night."   
  
"Cameron?"   
  
Her back stiffened. "And as for you... you can switch yourself back into the right body before tomorrow morning. Then we'll talk."   
  
Jessa and Remy exchanged an exasperated stare. They nodded, then Remy sprang for the door, drawing Cameron further into the room and preventing any chance of escape.   
  
"She hit her head," Jessa explained to Kian --or was it Kieran? -- and kept her voice low enough that Cameron couldn't hear. "Short-term memory loss, some disorientation. She'll be fine."   
  
"I'll be just peachy," Cameron grumbled, hearing her despite her attempt to avoid this, and allowed Remy to lead her to a chair, where she sat. "I'm not the one having an identity crisis."   
  
Kian raised an eyebrow. "Who's having an identity crisis?"   
  
"You are," all three voices answered at once.   
  
The look on his face was utterly comical. He paused, then he blinked, and finally perplexity stretched taut across his face. "Who am I supposed to be?"   
  
"You're Kian," Cameron snapped, a dull flush rising on her cheeks and anger suffusing her voice, "and if you're not, you should be in *that* body." Her arm whipped out, jerking tensely to point at the body sprawled next to him on the floor.   
  
He followed the invisible line between her fingers and the carpet and raised an eyebrow. "She hit her head?" he said calmly to Jessa.   
  
And then even Jessa was speechless, because Kieran's body was no longer there.   
  
"But--"   
  
"Mon Dieu," Remy added, while managing to look shocked.   
  
Kieran's body had simply disappeared, stake and all. One minute it had been there; the next it was gone. Not even an imprint had been left on the plush carpet.   
  
His perplexion deepened.   
  
"Cameron, I don't understand. How did I get up in this--" he paused, words eluding him, "this room." A brief pause hung, peppered by hesitation, then he asked, "And who staked Giacinta?"   
  
She stared at him suspiciously. "Who are you and what have you done to my soulmate?"   
  
"I *am* your soulmate," he answered through gritted teeth. "Exactly how hard did you hit your head?"   
  
"Obviously not as hard as you hit yours," she muttered. She shifted on the ornate wooden seat, agitated, eyes sweeping over the tousled hair and sullen curve of his mouth. What did he have to be angry about? He was sitting in the middle of the floor, intact, and playing some sort of hideous joke on her. A *joke,* of all things.   
  
Her mouth tightened so hard she bit into her lower lip before she'd realized. And even then, the physical pain was incidental next to the hurt she felt at his cruelty. How could he do this to her? The question reverberated in her head like the echo of an avalanche in an empty canyon. She would expect this spitefulness from Kieran, maybe, but never from Kian.   
  
The revelation spun through her and shook her to the core.   
  
Maybe he wasn't being spiteful.   
  
He watched her cautiously from where he sat on the carpeted floor, one hand propped carefully behind him, the other rubbing absently over his heart, as if to soothe an absent pain. His mouth twisted wryly. She couldn't help but notice the misery drenching his eyes, or the way he didn't seem to notice it was there.   
  
Oh. Goddess.   
  
Dropping her head into her hands, she tried not to berate herself for jumping to conclusions. But then, hindsight is always clearest and the most embarassing. She took a deep breath.   
  
"You're Kieran."   
  
It was a statement, not a question, and from the way he rolled his eyes and from his disgusted sigh, she had a feeling he found this truth to be rather obvious.   
  
"Who else would I be, Cameron?" he asked, exasperation and just a touch of anger curling through his voice.   
  
Her own eyes narrowed. "Well, since you've somehow managed to be resurrected in your twin's body--"   
  
"I don't have a twin!" he shouted. He pushed himself off the floor indignantly. "What is wrong with you? For the last week, all you've done is throw conflicting statements!"   
  
"And for the last two hundred centuries, all you've done is kill me!"   
  
"That emotional rollercoaster crashed a long time ago, my dear soulmate, and you were obviously the front car passenger." His voice was cold, but he kept running his hands through his hair as if it would somehow calm him. From the way he was pacing, Jessa and Remy didn't see that happening. "Of course, I killed you. We established that quite some time ago."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Why not?" he countered softly. He paused, then shook his head. "You're human. /Vermin./ You deserved to die."   
  
Her mouth dropped open in shock. "You don't really believe that."   
  
A long, measuring glance, then he sighed. "I don't," he admitted, "but if you don't start sounding a little more sane, I might change my opinion."   
  
"I am not the one with a sanity problem," she snapped. She swiveled to face the spot where Kieran's body should be, where instead there was only dust. "You're trying to tell me you didn't even have a twin! That is either a blatant lie, or a severe gap missing in your memory."   
  
He strode over, stopping in front of her and leaning close until his face was only inches from hers. "In the nearly two thousand years I've been alive, I have *never* had a twin. Occasionally, my name has been shortened to 'Kian,' when whoever was talking to me was too lazy to pronounce all those letters, but you are the last person I expect to call me that right now. *What* is going on?"   
  
"You did have a twin," Remy inserted. He didn't flinch at the dark look Kieran sent him. He only seemed amused.   
  
"I believe him, actually," Jessa said, shoving Remy out of the way. She walked to Kieran, tipping his chin up so she could stare into his eyes. He bared his teeth at her.   
  
"Stop that," Cameron commanded from where she still sat with her head buried in her hands. "You're not scaring anyone."   
  
Sulkily, he let the expression drop from his face. Something about this whole thing struck her as odd...   
  
The real Kieran would have snarled and probably done some serious damage, or at least threatened a little. That reaction -- backing down instead of fighting -- fit Kian's personality more than Kieran's. The discrepancy ate at her, gnawing at the pit of her stomach as if she'd swallowed a glassful of bubbling acid. The solution to this equation was almost too terrifying to think about.   
  
Kieran would never back down from a fight.   
  
Kian would never get into one in the first place.   
  
But --   
  
"Maybe I don't." Jessa dropped her hand from his chin. Her eyes met Cameron's briefly, something flashing sharply in their dark depths, then she grinned. "He's acting out of character, isn't he?"   
  
What a wonderful time for Jessa to be amused, Cameron thought scathingly. She didn't find anything funny in his single-personality disorder. In fact, it was rather disconcerting. Never had a twin? Hysteria simmered in her blood. Oh, he had a twin -- a twin who went by the nickname he claimed to have -- who had fought with him, laughed with him, and died for him.   
  
A twin who had hated him, but only with the deepest kind of love.   
  
They were night to day; dark to light. As trite as that seemed, it was true. Each twin had been an extreme in his own way, and each had held his weaknesses, as well as his strengths. A shame that each had found a weakness in her, yet touched some deep part she was sure would never be found again. How could it? He was gone, wasn't he?   
  
Now if only she could figure out exactly which "he" that was.   
  
Only one way to find out. She levered herself carefully off the chair, so scared at what she would find that her knees were shaking. *Shaking.* Talk about acting out of character. Her body was doing a wonderful job. Slowly, she slipped to where he stood, shivering slightly, though she knew he wasn't cold. Seeing it made her angry.   
  
He must have felt her anger, because he drew away, or as far away as he could manage without actually moving. He wasn't scared of her, but... looking in his eyes, she knew that he was scared for her. Her thoughts were drawn abruptly back to the moment she had realized he cared for her, back to that dingy hallway where her back pressed against the railing, and unheeding of any threats, she had chipped through his defenses. In that memory, he had cried for her.   
  
Now, no tears slid from those shattered eyes, but the vulnerability was there just the same.   
  
How easy it would be to grind those splintered fragments into pieces so small they could never be smoothed back together. His lips quivered slightly under her gaze. While he didn't remember what he had lost, somehow he knew he missed it. Cameron would stake her life on it.   
  
Only one way to find out. Her heart ricocheted in her chest, a thousand hands beating desperately against cruel iron bars, a thousand lives lost at the whim of one. Taking a deep breath, she reached for him, ignoring the small intake of breath as he prepared to lose everything at her touch.   
  
She drew his head down to hers, lips a bare breath from each other, until she could see the tiny flecks of turquoise streaming through the violet and the desperate, whirling navy. And she'd wondered why sometimes his eyes could look so dark. The briefest hestitaion, then she sealed his mouth with hers.   
  
Finally she had her answer.   
  
He was neither Kian nor Kieran.   
  
He was both.   
  
Kieran's mind had been darkness and jagged edges; Kian's soft colors and sloping planes. This was neither. It reminded her of a storm cloud soaked in sunlight, that bizarre precipice where sun clashed with rain and the line was almost tangible, yet somehow blurred. Mellow shades twining with deeper shadows to create a striking jumble of hues. Some peaks glittered sharply as though lightning had been frozen into blazing icicles, while others sparkled dully with only chips of that sultry frost embedded inside.   
  
They melded around each other, shifting like mercury until they were not two separate minds, but only one.   
  
Gasping, she wrenched her mouth away. "Kia -- Kieran," she said, pausing for a moment to get her breathing under control, "do you remember the last time you killed me?"   
  
He raised unfocused eyes to meet hers, the pupils nearly swallowing the iris, and dropped the hand he suddenly realized was tangled in her hair. "Why?"   
  
"Because it's *important.* Do you remember what happened?"   
  
"Vaguely."   
  
Getting answers out of him was almost as easy as uprooting a cactus. But his response was no more than she expected. An incidental memory washed out by hazy fragments of conversation and events that merged into a blissful pool of reminiscence. Maybe like a painting you recalled years after seeing it, so that the shapes were indistinct and the colors muted. Maybe like a dream that faded once you woke, the details smudged into whispering remnants of awkward wakefulness.   
  
"Do you remember what you said to me?" she asked finally, while he eyed her guardedly.   
  
"No," he frowned, the corners of that full mouth tilting down. Then some spark of memory lit his eyes like fireworks and pulsed brightly through his pupil. "I accused you of lying to me."   
  
She smiled grimly in acknowledgement. "And then?"   
  
He drew away, seeming to shrink into himself. "I killed you."   
  
"How?"   
  
Light streaming from those violet orbs now, as lethargic as sap dripping its way down rough bark. "I bit you," he snapped defensively, "just like every other time."   
  
"Hmm. And what did you say to me just before you bit?"   
  
"What is this? Twenty questions?" His mouth curled obstinately, and he moved back like he wanted to bolt, which was silly, of course. Kieran wasn't the type to run away.   
  
But from the way he was acting, she was more convinced Kian was standing in front of her. All she needed was his answer to prove it.   
  
"Answer the question, my dear vampire, or face the consequences." Too much glee filled Remy's wicked voice and he sounded all too ready to carry out some unknown threat. Cameron would cheerfully hurt him herself if he followed up on it. She just hoped he knew that.   
  
Kieran glanced warily at her, then said, "I apologized, because I was truly sorry that was going to kill you, but I *don't* break my promises." Once again the hand rubbed over his heart, as if he didn't realize the pain was there. "Are you happy now?"   
  
She stepped forward, brushing one finger over the sharp plane of his cheek, trailing down to where his pulse beat strongly in his neck. The wariness swelled around him like a protective blanket.   
  
"No," she answered, "but I will be."   
  
  
***   
  
  
Dawn streamed headily through the gauzy curtains and skimmed over tired faces, illuminating bruised skin beneath drooping eyes. Cameron yawned, her muscles jerking so suddenly that she nearly dropped her freshly brewed cup of coffee. Jessa sneered delicately at the sludge-like liquid.   
  
"I don't know how you can stomach that stuff."   
  
That statement was nearly an institution now, said every time the scent of coffee wafted through the house. Cameron smiled, relieved that even in the midst of life-shattering events, some things never changed.   
  
"Given the choice between coffee and what *you* drink to stay alive, I'll take the coffee." She raised the mug to her lips, gulping down the scalding fluid.   
  
"I hope you burned your throat," Jessa sulked, when Cameron winced.   
  
Setting the mug gently on the table, Cameron cradled it between her hands and let its warmth seep through her bones. "You'll get over it eventually."   
  
Jessa sniffed, but didn't say anything else. She watched her friend -- her charge -- silently, wondering at the secrets that whirled through her head like shooting stars, and burned just as bright. Their journey home had been silent, characterized only by the soft fall of footsteps against cold pavement and the slight rustle of fabric as they walked. Remy and Jessa had avoided staring at Cameron and Kieran's clasped hands, twined in a bond stronger than life itself.   
  
And, Cameron had stated quietly, in a bond stronger than death.   
  
Remy and Kieran now slept upstairs -- although not together, much to Remy's dismay -- and dreamed away the tragedy that only one remembered. They had both wandered away moments after entering the apartment, each stumbling to their respective rooms. Or in Kieran's case, into Cameron's.   
  
Cameron, unable to sleep, had wandered into the kitchen. Jessa had followed. They sat opposite each other, Cameron drinking her coffee and Jessa nursing a glassful of what looked like water, although Cameron would guess otherwise.   
  
Abruptly, she shoved the coffee away. "I suppose you figured out what happened."   
  
Jessa tossed her long, blond hair over her shoulder, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, and played dumb. "What do you mean?"   
  
The wry look Cameron bestowed on her said she knew what Jessa was doing. "What happened with the twins. You know... why Kieran was resurrected in Kian's body."   
  
"I have an idea," she answered after a moment. "Nothing certain, of course, but definitely some theories."   
  
Cameron looked down briefly, the corners of her mouth curving in a smile. Then her face sobered. "Kieran wasn't lying when he said he never had a twin. They were never meant to be two separate people, but something happened..." She shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it, but something went wrong when they were born. The soul split and entered two bodies instead of one. So when they died--"   
  
She let her voice trail off and the sentence hang in the air.   
  
"When Kieran died," Jessa corrected. She took a large gulp of the clear liquid in her glass and then propped her chin against her hand.   
  
"Right. When Kieran died, he didn't really die, because, well... I guess, because only half of his soul had been injured. Or whatever happens to a person's soul when they get staked. So they fused back together in the body that *hadn't* been maimed."   
  
Jessa nodded, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. "So how do you explain the part where he calls himself Kieran?"   
  
"Kieran's was the dominant personality?" Cameron suggested, shrugging. "It would make sense, wouldn't it? While Kian played the victim rather well, Kieran was always more industrious. Finding me, killing me... let's face it. He orchestrated this whole thing nearly from the beginning."   
  
"True," she acknowledged. "For two thousand years he managed to murder you repeatedly and make his brother's life hell. Don't you feel safe knowing that *this* half of their personalities survived?"   
  
Cameron laughed. "It's different now, Jessa. Kieran's personality might be more dominant, but Kian is still a part of him. They never really were two different people. Kieran doesn't even remember Kian."   
  
Jessa sat back, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And how does *that* work? It's not like they were never in the same room or having a conversation. I'm curious, but I'm not about to ask him. He'd likely knock off my head."   
  
"He wouldn't know anyway." Cameron reached for her coffee, swirling it in the cup, and took a long swallow before she answered. "I'm not even really sure. That's why I asked him what happened last time he killed me. The answer was something only Kian would have known and I wanted to -- to be sure of what I'd seen. He remembers everything, but I'm not sure how his mind has organized the time to accomodate for dual lives."   
  
Jessa yawned, stretching lazily in her chair. "I'm not sure it matters," she murmured, then yawned a second time.   
  
Cameron fought back a yawn of her own. "Probably not. The important part is that this is finally over. Finally."   
  
Some indistinct sound escaped from deep in Jessa's throat, her eyes trained where shadows fell just beyond the doorway. A faint smile traced her lips. "I think your presence is being requested, Cam. Perhaps you should take yourself off to bed."   
  
Jerking around to face the doorway, Cameron saw Kieran's distinctive features framed in those same shadows. He hesitated there, and she had to remind herself that this was the big, bad, evil twin who had made her short lives filled with fear and hell. Now he only seemed uncertain and wary.   
  
She held a hand out to him and invited him to come closer. After a few seconds of indecision, he moved forward and closed his fingers around hers. She pulled him closer and let her arms sprawl over his spine, resting her head against the hard planes of his stomach.   
  
"I--"   
  
"I know," she interrupted, "and I can't explain. You probably wouldn't believe me anyway."   
  
Amusement reeled through his eyes and he leaned back, his lips curving. "What exactly did you think I was going to say?"   
  
"You don't want to know," Jessa answered for her. "Just thinking about what she was thinking about makes my head hurt." She rose unsteadily from the table, weaving from fatigue. "I think bed would be a great idea. Everyone coming?"   
  
Both Jessa and Cameron burst into laughter at the stunned look crossing Kieran's face.   
  
He grinned suddenly, realizing his mistake. "It's been a long night and I've already had to fend Remy off twice. I have every right to jump to conclusions."   
  
"We only tag-team with stakes," Jessa assured him, laughing. She and Cameron exchanged amused glances.   
  
His head tilted slightly as he considered the image that brought to mind. "That sounds almost dangerous," he said thoughtfully. "I didn't think you were the type to go for that sort of thing."   
  
They were silent a moment, then Jessa cleared her throat. "Right. So about sleeping... I think I'm going to do that. I would suggest you do the same." A pause, while she watched them watching each other. "Or whatever you plan on doing there."   
  
"Mind your own, Jessa," Cameron scolded, mock severity dancing through her voice.   
  
Her roommate grinned, chocolate eyes melting iniquitously. "Night."   
  
"Morning," Kieran countered, a beautiful smile lighting his chiseled face.   
  
They both watched her glide down the hall to her bedroom. A light clicked on, briefly glistening on the carpeted floor before the door slammed shut behind her. They were -- finally -- alone.   
  
His hand stroked over the silken strands of her hair. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted, frowning, while his fingers absently slid to massage the soft skin at the base of her neck. "Every time I heard a noise, I thought Remy was coming for me."   
  
"Oh, you poor thing," she teased and sagged into his touch, letting his body support her weight. "I do love you, you know."   
  
Those fingers stilled, just a small exhalation of time whispering through the air, and then he dropped his hand. He was quiet.   
  
She didn't know what she had been hoping for. A profession of his undying love? That he wasn't trying to kill her now had to mean *something,* didn't it?   
  
But still, that silence hurt.   
  
A soft sound escaped him, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, then he knelt beside her. "I need you," he said simply.   
  
And that said it all, she realized. His hands slipped from her neck to tangle in the heavy fall of her hair, drawing her against him until her head rested in the cradle of his shoulder. His pulse beat erratically against her cheek, the pressure strong and reassuring to her tired mind. His fingers tightened briefly.   
  
For a moment, it felt strange to be here like this, his arms curled around her, without the massive blood loss to accompany it. No fighting. No pain. Nothing but that curious sense of security drilling itself into her heart. All her sorrow seeping slowly through the hole it created, disappearing quietly.   
  
Funny how losing something that was so much a part of her was so painless. The anguish gone, replaced with this dream-like contentment. Centuries of bloodshed washed away by one slender, jagged splinter of wood. And perhaps she needed to think back on those lives that had been cut short to truly appreciate what she had been given, and what had been taken away.   
  
Maybe it had been necessary for her heart to bleed -- whatever the cause might have been -- in order for her to gain this boy pressed so tightly against her. He was hers now, completely and irrevocably, and she would never, ever let him go. Those bonds forged in blood were always the hardest to break, especially when shrouded in love.   
  
Joined together in heartache and thoughts Kieran didn't and couldn't understand. He would never hurt her, physically or emotionally, and any outside pain wasn't pain at all. Merely something insignificant and surreal. All that mattered was what she had found in the death of one, and the birth of another.   
  
Together at last, their souls twined so tightly that it was hard to determine where one began and the other interposed. Not two halves of a whole, but One. One person, bound by memories that shouldn't have been and separation that had lasted too long.   
  
But she didn't care and it didn't matter. Nothing did, because her heart would never bleed again, except maybe with love.   
  
Fin. 


End file.
